









COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 







s. 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 

How Oakley Rose Became a Naval Architect 





“I’ll go ‘sending her’! I’ll die — rowing!” 


Page 492 



FROM KEEL TO KITE 

HOW OAKLEY ROSE BECAME A 
NAVAL ARCHITECT 


BY 

ISABEL HORNIBROOK 

V 

Author of “Camp and Trail” 


ILLUSTRATED BT FRANK VINING SMITH 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 



Published October, 1908. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 30 1908 

Copyright entry 

v 0 ,\qo^ 

CLlsS Ou XXc, No, 

~Lb c \ r L ( \b 

COPY 3, 


Copyright, 1908, 

by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

From Keel to Kite 



NORWOOD PRESS 


BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 

U.S. A. 


X 


i 


PREFACE 


“ Breathes there a boy with soul so dead ” that 
he does not love a boat — from the days of his 
first toy-yacht, hove down on pond or sea-pool ? 

And so I have thought that there lives not the 
boy so dull of imagination that he cannot love a 
fishing vessel, not only in the stormy happenings 
of her wild career on southerly shoal, or Arctic 
fishing ground, but also through the scenes of 
her growth and launching, from grass-green keel 
to topsail kite — the “ light kites ” being, as fish- 
ermen say, “ the real life of the vessel.” 

And here I would gratefully express my in- 
debtedness to certain kite-flying skippers: nota- 
bly, to Captain Charles Purdy, for valuable col- 
laboration on a trip to Georges Shoal ; to Skipper 
Edmund Peterson, also; and to “ Captain” John 
Marshall, for experiences on the longer “ fletch- 
ing ” voyage, away up north, in pursuit of the 
gamy halibut, amid ice floe and berg, under per- 
petual daylight. 

To them, and to those youthful heroes ashore, 
who hang on to ambition’s kite against a head 
wind of difficulty, this story is dedicated. 

Isabel Hornibrook. 

Gloucester, Mass., June i, 1908. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Homing “ Fisherman ” i 

II. On the Trestle * . 22 

III. “Greengage” 38 

IV. The “Snake-Trailed” Letter .... 51 

V. For Reasons ! 65 

VI. “ Off Comes My Kite ! ” 79 

VII. The Bear’s Den 97 

VIII. “Jumping” a Bunk 116 

IX. A Deck Stage 126 

X. The Richard A. Gage 143 

XI. The Launch 160 

XII. A Parting Hawser 169 

XIII. Hauled Off 191 

XIV. At the New Wheel 203 

XV. The Keel is Set Up 221 

XVI. Luck-Money . . . 239 

XVII. “Oh, What a Mess!” 249 

XVIII. The Mould-Loft . . .267 

XIX. Fortune’s Shabby Trick .. *, M w • . 280 

XX. Midnight Torching . « » ■ M » » . 287 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI. Captain Ceeph 303 

XXII. Off to Georges! 317 

XXIII. The Vessel’s “Crowd” 327 

XXIV. First Night Out! 341 

XXV. The Flare-Up 352 

XXVI. In the Tide Rip 368 

XXVII. Fo’c’s’le Yarns 375 

XXVIII. The First Set 391 

XXIX. A Dory Astray 402 

XXX. The Gale on Georges 41 1 

XXXI. The Pollocker’s Deck 432 

XXXII. The Ice-Bear 449 

XXXIII. The Black North 465 

XXXIV. “Till the Last Gun Shall Fire” . . . 479 

XXXV. “ Sending Her,” Ashore 495 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“I’ll go ‘sending her’! I’ll die — rowing!” (Page 
492) Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 


But Oak got the ball, alias Dickey, in his arms. . . 36 ** 

The figure of Aunt Lo, the little flag-maker . . . .90. 

“It’s Oakley!” 138^ 

“ A ten-dollar bill ! ” 300 ^ 

The sea, like a lion, was grappling him by the waist . 420 ✓ 
He rolled helplessly forth upon the deck 446 






FROM KEEL TO KITE 

CHAPTER I 

A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 

O, go it, Playseeders! Get a wig- 
1 T gle on you — you Punkin-eaters ! 

She’s crawling up on you; she’ll 
fetch by Eastern Point before you ! ” 

This semi-articulate shout, amiably jeering, 
had the effect of an harangue to space, there 
being no one at hand, on the sun-gilt beach, to 
hear or answer, as it burst irrepressibly from 
the lips of a boy of sixteen. 

A youthful enthusiast, he stood at the golden 
junction of sands and tide, fairly flirting his 
body, from the waist up — as a butterfly fans its 
wings above a flower — while he gloated over 
the excitement of some distant spectacle! 

“ She’s creeping up, Pie-eaters ! She’ll be 
walking away from you, in another few min- 
utes ! ” he broke forth again, with lonely gusto. 

“ You — you’re a big, blunt-nosed three-mas- 
ter ! ” apostrophizing, now, the passing vessel at 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


whose crew he had been launching, unheard, his 
jeering pleasantries. “A three-master you are 

— a fine vessel, for a coaster — not any lazy old 
hooker ! But — but you’re not in it with the dog 
that’s picking up her heels, behind you! May 
as well make up your minds to that, you 
Punkin-peddlers! ” letting out his voice on wings 
of laughter, at the end, as if men on the deck 
of the large “ down-east ” coaster, hustling for 
harbor, with all sail on, could hear him! 

The exciting spectacle over which he gloated 
was the tail-end of an impromptu race between 
that big three-master and a “ fisherman, walking 
home,” likewise, with every rag on her. 

The ' latter, the “ crawling-up ” fishing 
schooner, was the fleet dog of the boy’s speech 

— the admired of his heart! Naturally enough, 
seeing that he was Oakley Rose, son of Captain 
Norman Rose, master mariner of Gloucester, 
who, for years, had “ gone skipper ” of a fishing 
vessel, until he was lost on the dreaded Cultivator 

— a northeasterly shoal of Georges’ bank — • 
when Oak was but seven years old! 

On his mother’s side the boy had the blood of 
three generations of Gloucester sea-lords in his 
veins. 

But, though Oakley’s sympathies were all with 
the smaller, two-masted schooner, which had 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


been steadily creeping up on her rival, ever since 
the two hove in sight, three-quarters of a mile 
from the beach where he stood, yet he was im- 
partial enough to acknowledge that the big lum- 
ber-laden coaster was a fine sight, too, sailing 
“ by the wind,” under a cloud of canvas ! 

“ She’s carrying every rag she has : two j ibs — 
fore-stays’l — mains’l and spanker ; three tops’ls 
— main an’ mizzen stays’ls, as well ! ” slowly 
enumerated the boy, under his breath, taking an 
inventory of the different items in that cloud of 
canvas, almost as if he were a master mariner, 
himself. 

It was one of the delights of his life to glean 
all possible knowledge about the sailing capacity 
of each fishing vessel, yacht and coaster that 
skirted the Cape Ann shore. 

“ The little ‘ fisherman ’ is spreading all her 
muslin, too:” he ran on in an admiring under- 
tone: mains’l, fores’l, ‘ jumbo ’ an’ jib; her four 
lowers, or working sails, for strength — as 
Uncle Ceeph would say ! And her three kites — 
two gaff-tops’ls an’ stays’l, with little old bal- 
loon, or ‘ gasoliner,’ for speed — ‘ for get-up-an’- 
go,’ ” shooting a laughing glance outward at 
mention of the “gasoliner” to the balloon-jib of 
light duck, silvering above the schooner’s bow- 
sprit. “ ‘ Light sails for the real life of the ves- 


4 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


sel: — all her ambition's in them; that’s Uncle 
Ceeph, again!" an amused regret brushing the 
boyish face, like a wing, as he quoted to himself 
treasured-up sayings of this seafaring relative. 

“ The little fisherman can outpoint the three- 
master,” drawing on his own nautical knowledge, 
“ lay nearer the wind — get the advantage of 
every puff that comes — which isn’t much now ! 
Breeze is just beginning to go back on her ! ” 
mumbled the skipper’s son, while he eagerly 
watched his favorite “ swinging ahead lively,” 
perceptibly gaining on the large three-master, 
despite the fact that her ally, the “ pretty breeze,” 
which all day long had prevailed on the water, 
notwithstanding drowsy heat, ashore, was com- 
mencing to wane. 

“Too bad it’s not staying by her just a little 
longer ! ” gurgled Oakley scowling at a dwin- 
dling puff of the erstwhile, gay sou’wester, 
lightly tickling near-by waves. On land it was 
falling asleep altogether; a sultry stillness pre- 
vailed. “She — ” with eyes still glued to his 
champion in the brief race — “ she’ll have to 
tack, presently, in order to beat into harbor! 
All the same, she’ll pass the big-coaster before 
they fetch by the headland, there,” glancing, 
outward, toward a jutting spur of gold, “I — 
I’ll eat my coke if she doesn’t ! ” 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


5 


While uttering this mirthful challenge, the boy 
withdrew one eye from that passing race, and 
dropped a glance upon a basket beside him. It 
contained, along with grey chunks of wreck- 
wood, a few dull, moist lumps of steamer’s coke, 
cast overboard, amid refuse ashes, by the engineer 
of some coasting tramp steamer, and borne to his 
feet by big-brother billows, lapping Candlegrass 
Beach. 

To a lad, about to enter on his third high 
school year, on whom devolved the responsibility 
of stretching a grandfather’s pension of sixteen 
dollars a month into an all-round provision for 
two, steamer’s coke and “ wreckwood ” repre- 
sented a welcome saving on fuel. 

Indeed, there were times when Oakley, having 
set his heart upon a long course in the State 
Institute of Technology, after he should graduate 
from the high school — while considering ways 
and means — longed nonsensically that it were 
only possible to replenish the larder as well as 
coal-bin, with such gifts of ocean — at all events, 
while a fellow was fighting for an education. 

With the love of vessels born and bred in him, 
he had conceived the daring ambition of develop- 
ing, with time, into a naval architect, whose spe- 
cialty should be the designing of “ glorified ” 
fishermen, and larger sailing vessels, built on 


6 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


lines of strength or speed. Of such able “ wind- 
jammers ” the racing pair, before him, were re- 
spectively, fair examples. 

But though he admired the heavy-laden coaster 
with the same approval which he might have be- 
stowed on a handsome draught-horse, his heart 
was with the ocean thoroughbred, the “ kited ” 
fisherman. He fairly held his breath, while, min- 
ute by minute, she gradually overhauled the 
three-master. 

“ You -—you’re the girl!” he rhapsodized si- 
lently, apostrophizing her high-stepping bow and 
smart cut, generally. “ You’re a real dog at pick- 
ing up your heels! Oh! Oh! ’twould be a sight 
to make a dogfish drop his herring if you were 
licked on the home-stretch,” doing a double- 
shuffle near the tide’s edge kicking up a rain- 
bowed wheel of sand which, for a moment, hid 
the passing vessels. 

This whirlwind subsided, motionless stillness 
hovered, for some ten minutes, over Oakley’s 
particular patch of sunlit beach: then, of a sud- 
den, he burst forth in a culminating explosion of 
excitement — one could almost see “ the chips 
of ecstasy ” fly : 

“ Hi ! Hi ! Hi! Hi! Bully for the fisher- 
man ; she’s passing the three-master now ! ” 

For a minute or two both schooners blended 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


7 


into one against the dazzling September horizon 
— the “ fisherman ” eclipsed by the greater bulk 
of her rival — then, calmly, she, the smaller 
craft, glided ahead! 

“Hi! Hi !” applauded Oak again, as if the 
victor were some member of the home team mak- 
ing the score look “ one better ” on a baseball 
field. “ I guess, there’s a hullabaloo on your 
deck now, old girl ! ” he ran on, half aloud. 
“ The fishermen are about wild with joy at get- 
ting home — especially if you’re a halibut 
fletcher — back from a long trip, away up north, 
to Labrador waters! Depend on it! they’re pil- 
ing chock for’ard, calling the down-easters 
‘ Hayseeds ! ’ an’ ' P unkin-peddlers ! ’ ” merrily 
picturing the homing scene. 

“ If it was, only, a few years ago — and that 
was an old-fashioned coaster — they’d be sing- 
ing out: ‘ Rats on your rudder! Scat! take 
your rudder indoors ! Rats on it ! ’ ” 

And, because he was a fisherman’s son, Oakley 
could not, for the life of him, refrain from send- 
ing this traditionary taunt ringing in a “ full- 
blast ” shout over gold-crowned billows separat- 
ing him from the beaten coaster. Albeit, he very 
well knew it to be a libel on the handsome three- 
master : that she was fitted with the newest type 
of transom stern — that few, if any, living coast- 


8 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ers, to-day, are disfigured by the antiquated rud- 
der-outside attachment, which fishermen people 
with imaginary climbing rats! 

Meanwhile, the victorious fishing schooner was 
disappearing round that gilded headland, through 
jeweled gates of waning sunlight, lightly 
touched with downy haze. Oak’s eager gaze fol- 
lowed her, until the thin spires of her topmasts — 
the last kite-wing of topsail — were hidden by 
that jutting point. 

“ I always think that a fisherman looks 
proud, coming home, like that — from a long 
trip, most likely — with all her light kites fly- 
ing ! ” he mused, thinking of topsail and staysail 
pinions, which, according to “ Uncle Ceeph ” 
were the “ real life ” of a vessel. “ She’d have 
passed the three-master sooner but for the breeze 
dropping down! There’s not a puff ’long shore, 
now. I guess ’twill come up thick o’ fog, pres- 
ently, at sundown — ” surveying the downy at- 
mosphere with the keen “ weather eye ” of a Cape 
boy — “ an oozy, milk-shake land-fog with the 
sunset ‘ running its little old lights,’ behind the 
screen — same as we get often in the very be- 
ginning of September ! ” speculating silently. 
“ But the little ‘ fisherman ’ will have rounded 
Eastern Point by that time — by beating up into 
the harbor — where a tug can come an’ get her ! ” 


A HOMING 44 FISHERMAN ” 


9 


And Oak stared at the feathery headland 
which screened the victor as if it were a rain- 
bowed transparency, through which he could see 
Gloucester harbor, with its outpost, the light- 
house on Eastern Point, the jutting masonry of 
Dogbar Breakwater, and the white tower on 
Ten Pound Island, like a gate-pillar of the inner 
harbor. 

In imagination he followed the homing fish- 
ing vessel, as a tug came hustling, like a dark 
step-brother, to meet and tow her to some snug 
berth by a marine railway, after perils of gale, 
black fog and ice, which had beset her — if she 
was a halibut fletcher — • during a four months’ 
trip. 

Having, with his mind’s eye, seen her safely 
ensconced, the boy, feeling that excitement had 
44 slumped,” fell back upon his occupation before 
the race attracted him, which consisted of eagerly 
searching those burly gleaners, the breaking bil- 
lows, for stray lumps of steamer’s coke, washed 
to his feet by an unusually high course tide ! 

44 1 guess more than one 4 tramp ’ has passed 
outside this afternoon ! ” he muttered, gazing sea- 
ward. 44 I’m in luck ! ” counting his dull, black 
nuggets. 44 That coaster is beginning to 4 make 
a long leg and a short leg,’ now, trying to beat 
round the headland, there! 


10 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“Hi! Hullo! How’s punkins, down-east?” 
Oak flung after her, as a parting shot — being 
familiar with all the chaffing amenities proper on 
an occasion like this — wickedly insinuating that 
the three-master’s crew would be more at home 
peddling pumpkins than handling sail. 

Yet in the selfsame breath, he began to do 
silent justice to the lagging vessel! 

“ I suppose — now — that, if I were a Maine 
boy, born in some lumber port, I’d think her the 
finer craft of the two, by long odds ! ” he rumi- 
nated, laughing at prejudice, like a philosopher. 
“ Her crew might have got back at the fisher- 
men, if they jollied them in passing, by calling 
the homeward-bound boys : ‘ Bluebeards ! ’ and 
* Mopheads,’ ” merriment effervescing again. 
“ Or — ■ Dark-shelled lobsters! ’ if the fishing 
vessel was a halibut fletcher, back from a long 
northern trip ! Great Caesar ! sha’n’t I feel like a 
winner — " Oak straightened himself, abruptly, 
with flashing eyes — “ a winner from Winners- 
ville, when I graduate from Tech with — with 
a knapsack-full of knowledge — able to draw 
the lines of a * slick ’ flyer, like that fisherman — 
or a stout freighter, such as the coaster — not to 
speak of vessels larger and faster than either ? ” 

The spectator forgot the brief race entirely. 
A lump of coke, big as a goose-egg, was washed 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


11 


by a friendly wave to his feet. He heeded it 
not, until another greedy billow stretched out 
pale, foam-fingers, to snatch it back. Then, Oak 
captured the egg of fuel, without losing the look 
of abstraction which had stolen over his face, 
as of one listening to music more stirring than 
the high tide’s purr. 

In imagination, he was following the forward 
march of his own future — wrestling prophetic- 
ally with difficult passages to be faced, in forcing 
his way onward to ambition’s climax, which he 
had determined to reach ! 

Already, he was laying plans for the coming 
two years in high school : to work and study, 
like a Trojan, in order, at their close, to win a 
scholarship in the State Institute of Technology 
— with the career of a naval architect, in view. 

“ I suppose that, if I do pull off a scholarship, 
I’ll have to land in Tech for the full architect’s 
course of five years,” he mused, “ although, three 
would be sufficient for me — to turn me out capa- 
ble of designing a wooden vessel of any size or 
class ! 

“ Of course, the extra knowledge will be a fine 
equipment! Caesar! wouldn’t it be g-great to 
graduate, with honors, as a full-fledged B. S.” 
winking dazzled eyes, “ able to figure on a big 
steel ship ? But how, on earth, are we to wiggle 


12 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


along, on Gran’dad’s pension till I’m three-an’- 
twenty — that’s the rub? 

“ What — what bothers a fellow most, though, 
is that he — Gran’pap — hasn’t been smart, at 
all lately ! Sometimes I — I feel dead anxious 
about him, after what the doctor said on his 
last visit ! ” 

Oak still held the moist goose-egg of coke; 
with a half-frightened gesture, he shot it aloft, 
as a “ sky-ball,” and catching it deftly, repeated 
this manoeuvre, after the manner of his tribe, 
who find relief in tossing anything. 

“ But — great guns ! what’s the use of 4 board- 
ing trouble, before it gets ’longside?’ ” he mur- 
mured, as if shaking off some grasping night- 
mare. 

44 1 guess 4 Papa John’s ’ lameness comes a lit- 
tle against him — now, that he’s .getting old ! ” 
using a tender, childish name for the grand- 
father who, for years, had taken the place of 
both parents — Oakley’s mother having died at 
his birth. 44 He — he’ll need all the care an’ 
comforts he can get, though, for the next few 
years: I don’t want to dip into him too much 
for my education ! ” boyishly slangy. 

44 1 know that he has a couple of hundred dol- 
lars, or so, lodged in my name in the savings 
bank, hoarded from the time when he had the 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 13 

little old Dorothy, and used to take ‘ summer 
boarders ’ — big parties — out sailing,” ran on 
the future architect, silently cogitating. “ He’s 
saving it as a little slice for me when I’m going 
through Tech! ” with a tender glow on the keen 
young face. “ But — but I’d rather work till all 
was blue, during vacation-time, than take his 
whole little nest-egg! 

“ And there’s only one other relative who 
might give a fellow a ‘ hand-out ’ : that’s Uncle 
Ceeph ! ” Oak’s brown eye regained its spar- 
kle, as thought flew off to the grizzled master 
mariner, who had done much to foster in his 
childish breast a love of vessels, to his mother’s 
uncle, Cephas Dart, for years, like his father, 
a Gloucester “ skipper,” of high-line repute. 

“I — I guess gran’-uncle Ceeph must have 
made quite a little money out of fishing ! ” spec- 
ulated the boy. “ He generally had luck — big 
trips — used to be spoken of as a ‘ King pin ’ 
in the fleet — besides, being an ocean life-saver ! ” 
taking proud inventory of this relative’s marine 
honors. “ But folks say he’s put it all into that 
little farm he bought eight months ago — on a 
clearing in the back-woods up Essex way ! 
Fancy!” appealing, with a grin, to the hazing 
sea. “ Just fancy, Uncle Ceeph growing corn 
an’ cabbage, instead of ‘ lugging ’ sail in a 


14 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


hard breeze ! If — • if that’s not enough to make 
a dogfish chuck his herring!” again ringing in 
the voracious little horned shark, oft the bane 
of Uncle Ceeph’s life on the fishing grounds. 

“ Anyhow — I don’t think I’d want to strike 
him for help, towards — towards ‘ making a man 
o’ myself ’ ! ” Again, that shadowy wing of re- 
gret brushed the boy’s cheek. “ I guess, Gran’- 
pap and he had a fuss of some kind, about the 
time when they went into the fish-curing business 
together — and their smoke-house burned down ! 
Uncle Ceeph had ‘ peppered for ’ swordfish so 
much that a little of the pepper was lodged in 
him!” laughing silently. “Well, I guess I can 
manage to run things on my own hook, while 
I’m pulling off an education, so long’s my living 
is provided for out of Gran’pap’s pension ! 
There’s plenty to be done round here, in summer 
by which a fellow can earn money for train- 
fare an’ books. Even if it comes to pinching 
out one suit of clothes a year, by living on fish — • 
or to roughing it a little — what do I care: I 
wasn’t brought up in a flowerpot ! ” with a gay 
disdain for fellows who were. 

“ Only, it’s a pity that one can’t vary the diet 
by chewing steamer’s coke occasionally ! ” 

Laughingly, now, young Oakley Rose tossed 
the black egg of fuel into the air, bringing the 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


15 


moist lump to his lips on catching it again, as if 
to test whether it could, possibly, be made edible 
as well as combustible! 

The next instant he “ fetched a flurry,” and 
dropped it, like a live coal, into his basket, at a 
childish shriek — a pin-whistle squeal of derision 
behind him. 

“E zt-zt-eeh!” shrilled this small voice, ac- 
companied by a strange grating squeak. “ Eee- 
eeh! You — you’re eatin’ coal! Cra-crazy you 
are t-tryin’ to eat coal! ” 

“ Look out that I don’t make you eat some, 
little Mr. Smarty ! ” gasped Oakley, laughingly 
taken aback, as he whirled round to meet the 
challenging stare of a pair of wide, cup-like eyes, 
brimming with contempt for his tall folly. 

Beneath them, cheeks were rounded — each 
into a tanned half-globe — mapped out in lights 
and shades by the flicker of a connecting grin. 

“Hullo, Chummy!” breathlessly ejaculated 
the lad who had “ owned the beach ” for the past 
hour, “ where did you spring from ? Have you 
wandered off your reservation ? ” His laughing 
eye dropped from the puffy face of the new- 
comer to the straight five-year-old little body. 
“ Great — Great Caesar’s ghost ! are you a stray 
pappoose, lost on the marshes — roving among 
the candlegrass — or what ? ” 


16 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“I — I’m a — Injun — a Kick-Kick-a-poo In- 
jun; dat’s what my papa — calls me!” bragged 
the small stranger, the statement being corrobo- 
rated by a blast of mechanical squeaks. “ An’ 
— an’ this is my bear . He — he runned away 
from me in the ca’dlegrass ; I — I got to follow 
him ! ” looking up at Oakley, with eyes solemnly 
asseverating. 

“ Great Scott ! he did — did he ? ” exclaimed 
the latter, hugely tickled, his delighted gaze tak- 
ing in the extreme picturesqueness of a little fig- 
ure clad in a child’s “ Indian suit ” of yellow 
linen jacket and wee, loose trousers, the latter 
gaudily decorated with rainbow fringes away 
down to the instep of a tiny moccasined foot. 

Breast to breast — its silky hind-paws clasping 
his ribs — the child held a flaxen, gamy Teddy 
bear, which, as the owner’s restless little fingers 
squeezed him repeatedly in a vocal spot, swore 
to all statements in a braying squeak. 

There was a touch of wildness in the setting of 
the quaint picture which appealed to Oakley’s 
imagination. 

Child and bear-cub were outlined against a 
background of spreading salt-marsh, whose 
clumpy candlegrass fringed the beach. In each 
yellow clump the setting sun had lit a flaring 
torch, which, in turn, the land-fog of Oak’s 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


17 


predicting tried to quench, by shrouding each 
candle in a soft extinguisher, as of shredded cot- 
ton-wool. 

Within the past quarter of an hour this opal, 
sundown fog which, occasionally, wraps Cape 
Ann in mystery at the close of an early Septem- 
ber day, with effect indescribably beautiful, had 
thickened up swiftly — stealthily. It was piled 
now, like an illuminated milk-shake, above 
plump billows of the high tide, snoring on the 
beach, at Oakley’s back, since he turned to face 
the child. 

“ So — so your papa calls you a Kickapoo In- 
dian ? ” laughed young Rose, beaming down on 
mimic brave and flaxen bear-cub. “ I suppose 
he’s a big chief! And what may your name be, 
Mr. Kickapoo: is it ‘ Young- Man-Hunt- Well,’ 
or f Kill-bear — ■ or what ? ” 

“ ’Tain’t — ’tain’t eider!” popped out Puffy- 
Cheeks gravely. “ It — it’s ‘ Rags,’ or ‘ Rag,’ 
an’ Dickey! Dat’s w’at Gage calls me! He — 
he ain’t killed,” slowly groping toward the in- 
direct meaning in the tall boy’s words, while 
pinching the long-suffering bear-cub; “ his — his 
b’ains squeak ! ” 

“ That they do ! ” corroborated Oak. “ But 
what ‘ gets me,’ is why you’re called ‘ Rag.’ 
Your fringes are pretty gay — not ragged. I 


18 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


should say you were a dude Kickapoo ! ” chuck- 
ling again, while muttering sotto voce: “ The 
cutest kiddie I ever ran across — must be the 
child of some summer visitor, staying in a cot- 
tage on the Neck!” glancing eastward, in the 
direction of a promontory hill — hidden, now, 
under a cap of fog. 

Indirectly, “ Rag ” in the meantime was an- 
swering his puzzled question : “ I — I’ve got 

t’ree oder names, too ! ” he bragged vainglori- 
ously. “ T’ree big names ! ” 

“ Let’s have them, by all means ! ” 

“ I — I’ve got Rich — Richard — Adams — 
an’ Gage ! ” ticking them off on stubs of fin- 
gers. “ Dat’s all I’ve got! ” 

“ ’Nough, too ! ” laughed Oak. “ Mr. Rag, 
you’re a ‘ picnic ’ ! I suppose this ‘ Gage,’ who- 
ever he is, takes your initials — the three first 
letters of your big names — to spell your little 
one, and tacks on the little old s when he feels 
like it — eh?” 

Dickey nodded ; one could almost hear his own 
forward little brain “ squeak,” in his effort to 
keep abreast of the big boy’s conversation; * 
“And where are you staying, Mr. Dandy 
Kickapoo : where’s your hut — or tepee — at 
present? I mean, where do you live, just 
now ? ” 


A HOMING “ FISHERMAN ” 


19 


The child waved a small arm in yellow jacket 
sleeve, with bored indifference, toward the salt- 
marshes eastward : 

“Oh! You don’t sleep in a clump of candle- 
grass, do you ? ” chaffed Oak, while confirmed 
in his guess that Dickey’s “ folks ” were summer 
visitors, staying on the hilly Neck. “ How did 
you roam all this way, by yourself?” he ques- 
tioned, again puzzled at the appearance of so 
small a child far from any dwelling. 

“ Bear, he — he runned away f’om me — in 
the long grass ! ” repeated “ Rag,” mendaciously, 
gazing up at the questioner with eyes of inno- 
cence which said that this was no fib but a fic- 
tion of fancy — childish make-belief — whereby 
Dickey glorified his wandering impulses by at- 
tributing them to the wilful leadings of his bear- 
pet! 

“ Well! you, certainly are a cute little fellow! ” 
gurgled Oakley, slapping his knee, in high de- 
light. “ So cute you’d creep under one’s trouser- 
leg an’ out under one’s collar — as Gran’pap used 
to say of me, long ago! How long have you 
been playing on the beach, here? Did you see 
the vessels — the boats — racing, out there, a 
while ago, before the fog came on so milky 
thick?” 

Dickey, as was a habit with him, fastened 


20 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


eagerly upon one word in the question, letting 
the remainder drift, unheeded. 

“ Do — do you b-build boats ? ” he inquired 
suavely. “ My — my papa builds b-boats : he 
builds v-v- vessels in his yard — Gage says so ! ” 
“ This Gage, whoever he is, must be quite a 
fellow ! ” gasped Oakley, straightening up simul- 
taneously, like a shining ramrod, his lips emit- 
ting a low, curly whistle of amazement, wherein 
a mixture of feelings found vent! 

“ Gee-whitaker ! ” he ejaculated. “Why — 
why, you must belong to the Essex Gages; your 
‘ papa ’ is R. A. Gage, of Damon & Gage, who 
own the shipbuilding yard, isn’t he ? In all prob- 
ability, they built the fast fisherman which 
scooted round the headland out there, a while 
ago, showing the three-master her heels ! I 
hope she’s safe in the inner harbor, now,” radi- 
antly ; “ she was a dog ! 

“I — I guess, you’ve the makings of a ‘ dog ’ 
in you, too ! ” Oakley beamed down on the mimic 
brave, hugging his bear-cub — using the canine 
simile in its flattering significance among fisher- 
men, as a synonym for daring. “ And to think 
of your father being part-owner of the shipyard 
where they build some of the slickest fishermen 
— flyers — of the fleet ! ” 

Young Rose, meditating on this welcome fact 


A HOMING 46 FISHERMAN ” 


21 


of Dickey’s parentage, turned back toward the 
now shrouded sea! The blurred headland be- 
yond which fishing schooner and coaster had van- 
ished, some three-quarters of an hour earlier, 
was blotted out. He could scarcely see high, 
staggering rollers, a hundred yards out, because 
of the blur, piling like an ever-thickening milk- 
shake along the marsh-bordered shore ! 

“ Great Scott ! Mr. Kickapoo,” he gasped, 
with a waking start, “ the bear an’ you had bet- 
ter hustle for home like good ones. ’Twill be 
thick as milkbroth over the salt-marshes pres- 
ently,” with an anxious laugh. “ We ‘ grind 
out ’ fog here, as fishermen say of the Bay of 
Fundy ! ” 

The joke, somehow, fell flat, and his laughter 
held a sting of alarm, as Oakley glanced hur- 
riedly westward at the milky wall, shot with a 
rain of feathered, rose-colored arrows, interven- 
ing between himself, the mimic Indian at his 
side, and the sunset like a screen of rice-paper, 
with a lamp behind it. 


CHAPTER II 


ON THE TRESTLE 

T" OU’D better put for home, 4 Rag/ just 
j as fast as you can ! ” urged Oakley, 
hurriedly catching up his basket. 
Taking the mimic Indian’s hand in his, he led 
him inland, away from the shrouded beach ; then, 
suddenly, halting, he turned the child’s face east- 
ward, away from the sunset’s fog-screened lamp. 

“ Now, then ! ” he gasped, with a secret un- 
easiness of his own at heart, which made him 
impatient. “ Now, then, Dickey-bird, you go 
right straight ahead, across the candlegrass, 
until you come to the hill where all the houses 
are; I guess somebody will take you in hands, 
there — • steer you home — it’s a summer hive 1 
I wish to goodness, I could go with you; I 
don’t trust that roving bear of yours ! ” with a 
flurried laugh. “ But I ought to have been at 
home ages ago ! My ‘ Gran’dad ’ isn’t well ; he’s 
all alone — and waiting for his supper ! ” 

Remorse made Oakley uneasy: between two 
rival excitements of afternoon and evening — 


ON THE TRESTLE 


23 

witnessing the fragment of a race and encounter- 
ing a child of the well-known shipbuilder in 
whose yard the victorious “ fisherman ” might 
have been fashioned, from her green keel, up- 
ward — he had, temporarily, forgotten the needs 
of a grandfather about whom he felt “ dead anx- 
ious !” 

He could not help experiencing a twinge of 
nervousness, too, on behalf of the tiny, fringed 
“ Kickapoo,” starting for home across foggy 
marshes, with the scapegoat bear — his evil 
genius ! 

“ Say, ‘ Rag ! ’ ” he pleaded persuasively, 
“ you’ll keep away from the trestle ; won’t you, 
Chummy? From the low bridge — where elec- 
tric cars run? You won’t go near that , or the 
wooden platform, either — where people get off, 
when you come to the hill, with the colored cot- 
tages, you’ll trudge right on up home — like the 
fine little chappie you are — eh ? ” 

“ Yep — yep! ” yelled Dickey; the bear, as us- 
ual, coming in on the squeak. 

“ And don’t let Teddy run away from you, 
again ! ” implored Oakley, edging off on his own 
course. “You might never get him back ! Why ! 
Why, ’twill be so thick, back there, presently 
— where this high tide has spread over the salt- 
marshes — ” he laughed and pointed in the oppo- 




FROM KEEL TO KITE 


site to “ Rag’s ” destination — “ that the fish won’t 
know when they’re on top of the water: they’ll 
go on swimming up in the fog: that’s a Georges’ 
bank fog-yarn ! ” laughing again, hurriedly. 

Quick as a wink, Richard A. Gage wheeled — 
faced about: 

“ Where — where are the fish? ” he demanded, 
his sharp little gaze boring into the illuminated 
western fog-wall, behind him, like a hatpin. 

“ Oh, they may be swimming inland — your 
way ! ” laughed Oak in such a bewildering hurry 
to be off as hardly to know what he was saying. 
“ Perhaps, you’ll catch some of them by their 
tails, if you’re a good boy an’ hurry home; you 
won’t need any salt, either, the fish carry it round 
with them — when they go visiting in the fog! ” 
merrily getting off some of the nonsense which 
had been fed to him with his childish bread and 
milk, without his swallowing a grain of it, for 
fact. 

It did occur to him that Rag’s mental digestion 
might be more absorbent : “I suppose I oughtn’t 
to fill him up with fishermen’s-chaff ! ” he mur- 
mured, while starting off homeward, taking a 
cross course over the marshes, toward a wooded 
hill — invisible now — which bounded them on 
the farther side, as the high tide did on this one. 

“ I had to scare up some attraction to defeat 


ON THE TRESTLE 


25 


that roaming Teddy bear!” joked the boy, to 
himself. “ I think Dickey half-believes in the 
fish swimming out of water ! ” casting a back- 
ward glance over his shoulder at a small figure, 
steering eastward, netted in vapor. “ TO explain 
the fog-yarn when I see him again ! ” 

And, with this, he temporarily dismissed Rag, 
“ putting for home,” in good earnest himself — 
until he found that home-stretch barred by a 
grey hurdle, the long trestle of two thousand 
ties, built for electric car traffic, from the neigh- 
boring city to distant beaches, against which he 
had cautioned Dickey! 

Not until he was within a hundred feet of the 
grey “ spiles ” which supported its single track, 
could Oak distinguish those cobwebbed props, 
deeply rooted in grassy sand ! Here, at the 
heart of the salt-marshes, the fog had made of it 
a trellis, trailing over the low structure, like 
some dense white creeper. 

“ My stars ! I hope 4 Rag ’ will play up to the 
warning I gave him and steer clear of the tres- 
tle! ” gurgled Oakley, in a renewed and breath- 
less flutter of anxiety, while depositing his basket 
of moist fuel between oozy rails, elevated some 
four feet above dank marsh grass. “ Wish to 
goodness I could have seen him safely back on 
his reservation — with his wandering Teddy 


26 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


bear ! ” Turning eastward, he tried to pierce 
with eager search-glance the mountain of milk, 
looming between him and the “ Neck,” where, 
as he felt assured, Dickey’s family — or a part 
of it — was sojourning. 

In the west, there was still a core of sunset 
flame to the fog-mountain — growing dimmer, 
each minute. The torches in the candlegrass had 
all flickered out. 

“ That little lamp, off there, looks like a light- 
house, seen in a fog, at sea ! ” mused the boy, 
hurriedly scanning the landscape o’er; that is, as 
much as he could see of it, which was now 
only an ever-narrowing clearing, between en- 
croaching, vapor-walls. “ I hope to my heart, 
Dickey isn’t ‘ at sea :’ he — he was the cutest 
youngster I ever saw ! ” with a streak of laugh- 
ter. “ If I could but be sure that he’s steering 
straight home! He’s out of sight; that proves 
nothing; this is the only pretty fog there is, but 
it can put up a better game of hide-the-land- 
scape than the homeliest old drizzle ! ” 

“ Hullo, there! Rag — Dickey! how’re you 
making out ? ” he shouted, uneasily sounding 
the fog-billows eastward with a ringing hail. 

From that direction came no reply. The shout 
was repeated. And from out the heart of the 
milky thickness, westward — where the sunset’s 


ON THE TRESTLE 27 

lamp was dying — rang a faint pea-whistle note 
of answer, shrill as a sandbird’s “ Cheep ! ” 

“ Great Caesar ! if this isn’t enough to make 
a fellow sick ? ” panted Oakley, articulating 
blankly. “ He — he has, actually, faced round 
and gone clear in the opposite direction to that 
in which I started him off ; the young ‘ Rag ! ’ 

“ He, surely, can’t have lost his way — got 
‘ turned round * in the fog — already. Gee 
whiz ! ” Oak’s fingers suddenly clutched pro- 
truding tie-butts of the clammy trestle, as an in- 
credible idea shook him, whereat he hardly knew 
whether to laugh or weep. “ Gee whiz ! depend 
upon it, that young 4 Rag ’ is heading back to- 
wards the marsh flood, to find the fish, swim- 
ming in fog, above it! Well, Oakley Rose!” 
apostrophizing himself grimly, “ if you weren’t 
the biggest * chump that ever saw daylight ’ — 
when you fed fishermen’s chaff to a strange 
kiddie with an imagination, working overtime 
already! ” 

“ Hi there — Dickey! Dickey Gage! Stop: 
heave to! Turn back — Dickey — you’re off 
your course, altogether. You’ll get lost, in the 
fog!” summoned Oak, in a far-carrying cry. 

But Dickey knew what “ course ” he was on — 
a foggy fish-hunt, which he had no idea of re- 
linquishing. Like a veritable little Indian, he 


£8 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


scented the shallow flood, ahead, and headed for 
it, deigning no further answer, plunging deeper 
into the fog’s milky core ! 

“ Well, well — if ever you catch me chicken- 
feeding again on chaff, I — Fm a Dutchman ! ” 
muttered Oak, apostrophizing — this time — the 
milky atmosphere, with a laugh of desperate exas- 
peration. “ I suppose it’s my part of the game, 
to put after him, now — with Gran’pap all alone, 
wanting his supper : I’ll warrant that imp can run 
like a little spider, too.” 

Even as he recognized the obligation, the boy’s 
long legs were carrying him in pursuit. Run- 
ning parallel with the trestle, he, also, headed to- 
ward the flood-tide, spreading in an unusual ex- 
panse over salt-marshes on this side the tidal 
river, creeping like a fogged Rubicon, between 
him and the city! 

“ I can’t leave the little fellow drifting round 
on the marshes, with that runaway bear of his ! ” 
reflected young Rose, coursing cityward, on 
Dickey’s dim trail. “ The bear might take to 
the flood and drown the two of them!” laugh- 
ing, in spite of himself, again. “ What’s worse ! ” 
with a deeply shaken gasp, “ if I don’t switch 
‘ Rag ’ off, before he comes to some sand-knoll 
that humps itself almost to a level with the tres- 


ON THE TRESTLE 


29 


tie, he may climb onto that — as giving him a 
better vantage point to see the fish. If ever 
there was a youngster, with a jumping imagina- 
tion ! ” Oakley hunched his shoulders, groaning, 
as he ran. 

“ Hi there, Dick — Dickey Gage turn back, 
I say!” he brayed fiercely. “I’m coming after, 
Dickey — trying to catch up with you! For 
pity sake, wait for me. The — the fish aren’t 
swimming, in this direction ! ” in despair try- 
ing a laughing “ bluff ” to recall the small ex- 
plorer, bent on beholding nature’s latest phenom- 
enon — befogged fish ! 

Still, there was no response, defiant or obe- 
dient! And the enraged pursuer began to com- 
prehend Dickey’s nickname which, at first, seemed 
a misnomer ; his sense of moral responsibility was, 
at best, a ragged germ. 

“ You bet Richard A. Gage, Junior, will go 
into the air, when I come up with him !” snorted 
Oakley, threatening like some fee-fo-fum ogre, 
of mist-land. “ ’Twill be a case of 4 gathering 
up the fragments ’ when he comes down again ! ” 
in fun-tinged wrath. “I — I’ll shake that 
youngster till his head changes places with his 
heels! Gee whiz! the fog is getting so thick 
now that you could drink it ? ” bringing out 


so 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


more fishermen’s hyberbole — their chaffing ex- 
aggeration of the fog, their worst enemy ! “ It’s 

so damp, too, oozing, like milk ! ” 

Moved by some vague, sharp fear possessing 
him, the pursuer caught himself up, all of a sud- 
den; halting for a breathless moment, he 
sounded the fog-billows ahead with another 
pleading summons to Dickey to “ heave to,” and 
turn back ! 

This time, there came a harsh little chirk of re- 
ply — nearer, for the hunter was “ catching up 
— ” yet, with something about its petulant creak 
which literally staggered him ! 

“ Oh — Great Caesar ! if this isn’t the limit ! ” 
Oak appealed weakly to the thickened atmos- 
phere. “ The imp has climbed onto the trestle 
— by that sand-mound, back there!” thinking 
of a pale, shaggy hump, just passed. “ Tres- 
tle-walking in this fog is about as safe as 
tight-rope walking — for a kid, like him — with 
a car coming every fifteen minutes! My good- 
ness, there’s one due now; it ought to have passed 
quite a while ago ! The motorman couldn’t 
see two lengths ahead — it’s so thick here at the 
heart of the marshes, with dusk just coming 
on!” 

The fog-bath became, of a sudden, a steam- 
bath ; perspiration welled from the pursuer, as he 


ON THE TRESTLE 


31 


paused, for another half-second — listening — his 
ear to the trestle ties ! 

“She’s coming; I hear her!” Oakley’s eye- 
lids seemed to stiffen ; the whole inner boy 
heaved upward on the wings of that concen- 
trated breath which is really dumb prayer! 

Grasping the clammy end of a track-tie, here 
protruding only a few inches beyond the oozy 
rail — ■ though, public sentiment guarding against 
accident, had elongated tie-butts on the off side 
of the single track — he swung himself, without 
more ado, on to the trestle, taller, at this point, 
where salt-marshes dipped toward the flood! 

His lids felt stiff as flint-caps over eyes which 
stung and smarted as they strained into the 
massed fog-bank ahead — eyes dazzled, it 
seemed, by the yet invisible headlight of some 
advancing horror. 

“ I must put after him at a clip ! It’s ‘ up 
to me! ’ ” Such were the thoughts hurling 
themselves against the boy’s teeth, as long legs 
bore him onward in a sort of “ lope ” over stout 
log-ties — with half-foot spaces between them — 
clearing a bunch at a time, in a hopping gait, be- 
tween stride and leap ! 

Somehow, he could not help feeling, in a meas- 
ure, responsible for the predicament into which 
“ Rag ” had blundered, led by a jumping imag- 


32 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ination. And there lurked in Oakley, boy though 
he was, no grain of the cowardly sentiment 
which holds oneself not answerable for a blun- 
der, if any course under heaven — cost what it 
may — can retrieve it! 

“ It — it’s up to you — Oak ! ” he told himself, 
putting what speed he could into that running 
stride, his brain — like a fire-ball, in the fog — 
tormenting his heart with the possibility that 
something weaker than himself might pay the 
penalty for his nonsense talk. “ You started 
that strange kid off, on worse than a wild-goose 
chase! It’s your part of the game to hook him 
off the trestle now ! ” 

“ Dickey ! Dickey — stop ! Stop — I say ! 
There’s a car coming — she’ll be right on top of 
you, in another minute ! ” he shrieked wildly. 
“ There aren’t any fish swimming up here : that 
was only bluff ! ” in sheer desperation. 

But Dickey, now, heard the fringing splash of 
the marsh flood, a few feet ahead — purring 
round trestle props: in the growing dusk its 
foggy wink fascinated him! Perhaps, a childish 
imagination, “ working overtime,” beheld finny 
shapes soaring — swimming — in grey mull, 
above it : or it may be that “ Rag ” took his pur- 
suer’s frantic warning for more “ bluff.” 

Anyhow — half-credulous, half sceptical — he 


ON THE TRESTLE 


charged forward, in a daring little hop-dash, 
keeping close inside the left rail of the trestle 
track, nearest to the winking, cobwebbed tide — « 
where sawed-off tie-butts afforded not, even, a 
standing point between rail and flood ! 

“ Dickey ! Dickey ! Dickey — stop! Get — 
get over to the other side — off the track ! 
There’s the car ! You’ll be run — My soul ! ” 
the boy broke off, suddenly — tottering — as if 
the wooden trestle, heaved by earthquake shock, 
were doubling up, beneath him. “ Here — here's 
a fix: his leg has gone down between two ties ! ” 
Simultaneously, the hopping little figure ahead, 
abruptly, grew shorter, like Alice in Wonder- 
land after swallowing the magic drops. 

“ His leg’s caught ! An’ she’s coming — the 
car — - not at any snail’s pace, either ! ” Oak felt 
as if he were literally now “ drinking ” the milky 
fog, in great gulps. “ Motorman won’t see the 
child, till he’s right on top of him ! ” all in one 
shudder : “ Gee — here’s a blind look-out ! ” 

So “ blind,” indeed, that to the boy, at that 
moment, the grey trestle, with flood beneath it, 
rolled like the battered deck of a Georges’ 
“ fisherman,” netted in bank-fog, drifting on the 
shoals; for the first time in his life, he felt very 
seasick ! 

Where, a second before, there had been a “ toy 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


34 , 

Indian,” erect upon the track, bearing on his 
shoulder a gamy bear, not to be abandoned for 
any fish swimming out of water — now, there 
was only a mite of yellow back, curled over a 
tie! Extended from it were two arms in yellow 
jacket sleeves and one fringed leg, gaudily 
spread-eagled! A blurred fly, caught in the web 
of the thirsty spider, danger ; such was “ Rag ! ” 

Beyond him, the mountain of milk was yawn- 
ing, giving birth to another mountain, to a vol- 
cano, whose base spit fire, as grinding car-wheels 
struck sparks even from damp rails ! 

The motorman, failing to stop his car with the 
brakes — a bolt had slipped — at Oakley’s wild 
volley of shouts, trying to beat him back, sud- 
denly, yelled to his passengers to “ sit tight ! ” 
above the flood, and reversed the power. 

The trestle shook — literally, now — like a 
bridge about to be swept away, under the wild 
jolting of racked machinery! 

Cries of passengers, like “ bank-fog ” ghosts 
that shriek in other of the fishermen’s tales, stung 
Oakley’s nerves ! One dim ghost on a front seat 
led the rest; he was a lusty boy-spirit, with a 
scream that bit — shrill as a calliope — hysterical, 
now, as a girl’s ! 

He seemed trying to jump over the front plat- 
form, off the car, and the conductor held him 


ON THE TRESTLE 


35 


back — the while, this conviction, like a tortur- 
ing steel point, was drilling into Oakley’s brain: 
“ Motorman can’t stop her in time; wheels are 
slipping on the oozy rails! ” 

The car — which had been going faster than 
it was supposed to travel here, a chafed motor- 
man trying to catch up on his schedule, after in- 
terminable delay owing to power giving out — 
was only half its length, now, from the doubled- 
up child : yellow mountain sliding onto yellow 
fly ! 

For the millionth part of a minute — as it 
might be — the very “ blind look-out,” deadened 
something in Oakley; he felt bewildered, like the 
fogged fish, out of water, whose legend working 
on “ Rag’s ” imagination, had brought about his 
present predicament — which the shrieking child, 
at last, realized ! 

Then somewhere on the dusky trestle a lamp 
seemed lighted, its rays focusing themselves di- 
rectly on the yellow bow of that tiny curled 
back — the helplessly extended limbs ! 

“ It’s ‘ up to me!’ My part of the game!” 
Oak caught his breath with a hollow sound — 
like a drilled-out sob. “ My part of the game ! ” 
He cleared the bunch of spaced ties intervening 
between him and that yellow back — in a wild, 
haphazard leap! 


36 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


The slipping car seemed on top of him — he, 
on top of “ Rag ” — all three mixed in a blind 
old football scrimmage — as he landed right over 
the tiny Indian, to snatch him from the opponent’s 
grinding onslaught, with momentary delay of 
freeing a gaudy leg, buried between ties ! 

But Oak got the ball, alias Dickey — curled 
over the bear — in his arms : rallying all his 
strength, he gloriously shot over the danger-line 

— and made a “ touch-down ! ” 

In other words, struck, staggered, by the 
charging car-fender, he recovered himself, and, 
like a bird on rebounding wing, soared high 
above it! For the light by which he worked 
did not forsake him; its source was no sunset’s 
lamp wavering through fog, but the dynamo 
of heroism — the “ up to me ! — ” in a boy’s 
soul. 

Hugging “ Rag,” who, in turn, held, breast to 
breast, his Teddy bear — in a clasp which death 
alone could sunder — Oak took the nearest leap 

— outward — clearing rail and tie-butts, land- 
ing in the marsh-flood, below, while the car blun- 
dered on! 

“ By George ! that fellow made a * three-bag- 
ger — saved himself, the child, and bear ! ” cried 
an excited passenger from a front seat — draw- 
ing his metaphor from the baseball, not the 



But Oak got the hall, alias Dickey, in his arms, 

Page 36. 






















































ON THE TRESTLE 37 

football field — in a voice which held both a 
laugh and tear in it. 

That set a raft of tongues going with popping 
cheers ! 

As by a sudden reversion of power, shrieks of 
passengers were changed, in a twinkling, to a 
jerky chorus of “ Hi ! Hi! . . . Hi!” The 

boyish calliope which had been loudest in its 
shrill horror, a few moments ago, now topped 
all, in shaky applause ! 

Oakley caught its relieved “Hi! Hi !” flung 
down to him as, having alighted on his feet, he 
sank to digging knees, in yielding sand of the 
flood’s bed — his arms, like a hoop, encircling 
balled-up “ Kickapoo ” and tawny bear-cub ! 

But as the trio, blended into one figure by the 
fog-blur, struggled erect again amid two feet 
of shallow tide, the rescuer heard, once more 
above all, that resonant boom of the man passen- 
ger — applauding his “ three-base hit ! ” 

It seemed, oddly enough, to strike a new note 
in his life — not born to be silenced — but to 
sound again in another crisis, destined, some- 
time, somewhere, to lead the march, for him ! 

“Fine! Fine!” it flung down, as voicing a 
general vote. “ Quick play ! Good work ! ” 

And the fogged tide, climbing, blindfold, 
among trestle spiles, softly seconded : “ Good 

work! ” 


CHAPTER III 


GREENGAGE 

S TRUGGLING backward through shallow 
flood, almost to that point of the marshes 
where he had swung himself onto the 
trestle — in “ Rag’s ” wake — Oakley, presently, 
effected a landing on draggled grass. Upon a 
shaggy sand-mound he breathlessly deposited 
Dickey ! 

That “ dandy Kickapoo,” all challenge washed 
out of him by the partial drenching, the wet- 
ting of his rainbow-fringes, sat, stiff, staring, 
silent, save for an occasional mewing sob, 
like a young cat, just let out of a traveling basket, 
which feels that the end of all things may be 
round the next corner. 

With unconscious violence, he squeezed his 
roving genius, the Teddy bear, in a vital spot, 
and that long-suffering scapegoat rent the air 
with tragic death-squeaks, which changed the face 
of the situation for Oakley. They tipped over 
the boy’s balance in the tense moment of nervous 
reaction from daring; set him seesawing with 
38 


“ GREENGAGE ” 


39 


hysterical laughter ! Meanwhile, Dickey — a 
draggled brave — blinked at him, with owl-like 
solemnity, from his sand-perch — as if the res- 
cuer were bereft of sanity, and the late “ bluster 
of happenings ” which had upset a child’s world, 
had origin with him, alone. 

If speech had not been effectually drowned out, 
he would have squeaked in his “ pea-whistle ” 
treble : “ Cra-crazy — you are ! ” as at the 

moment on the beach, when Oakley’s acquaintance 
with him began over the black egg of coke. 

His Indian-like gravity, in combination with 
puffed cheeks and dripping fringes, made Oak 
laugh the more, until the rescuer felt, hysterically, 
as if he — not the threatened Dickey — was “ go- 
ing up in the air,” like a soda-water drink ! 

“ Great Caesar’s ghost ! ‘ Rag,’ you’ll be the 

death of me,” he gasped plaintively. “ You 
came within a squeak of being the death of us 
three ! ” glancing at the clotted bear. 

“That he certainly did: came jolly near it!” 
broke in a jerky voice, bumping over sand- 
mound and grass-clump, as somebody bounded 
down from trestle ties toward the dripping trio. 

“ Hullo — Dickey ! Dickey Gage! What — 
what are you doing here? Away from every- 
body, on — on the trestle?” panted the new- 
comer, getting “ mixed up ” with the trestle him- 


40 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


self, in his questions. Oakley knew, in a flash, 
who put them; it was the boy with the calliope 
scream, who had tried to plunge forward off the 
car, before he jumped to Rag’s rescue. 

As for Richard A. Gage, Junior, with the next 
breath, his frozen gravity melted into wet spar- 
kles! His neck was craned, his fluttering arms 
outstretched pathetically, in their tiny yellow 
jacket sleeves, silky with water. 

“ Ga -Gage! Gagie! ” he cried gleefully, his 
expression that of some shipwrecked explorer 
who sights home, after submerged miseries. 

" ' Gagie — • indeed ! Dickey — indeed ! ” 
snorted the newcomer, in wrathful echo. “ What 
were you doing on the trestle, so late — in this 
fog — I’d like to know ? It’s a miracle you 
weren’t run over; his — his miracle !” looking 
toward Oakley. 

“ The little fellow’s my cousin — Dickey 
Gage ! ” ran on the youthful passenger from the 
car — now stationary on the trestle above — in 
breathless explanation. “ Great Scott, I tell you 
I felt a pretty sick boy for a minute; all un- 
buttoned, inside,” shudderingly, “ when I saw 
him, caught like a fly, there, right in front of the 
electric ! Then, you got in some redhot play ! ” 
glancing up, with furtive eyes and unsteady lips, 
at the rescuer, who had the advantage of him in 


“ GREENGAGE ” 


41 


height by a few inches. “ It was simply great ! 
I don’t know how to go about t-thanking you: 
I — I’ll only make a bad fumble ! ” 

“ Don’t try a ‘ fumble,’ ” advised Oakley ; “ cut 
it out ! ” shaking between laughter and reaction- 
ary quakes. 

If the new boy was not “ drinking ” the milk- 
shake fog, in gulps, he had, apparently, got it up 
his nostrils, into eyes which stealthily winked 
away a mist. 

“ It was ‘ up to me ’ to hook him off the tres- 
tle anyhow: I guess, I was partly responsible, 
for — his being there ! ” threw off the rescuer, 
hurriedly explaining. “ We were together on 
the beach, when it thickened up; and I was 
4 loony ’ enough to fill his head with foggy ‘ fish- 
stories ’ — bank-fog yarns — about fish out o’ 
water — swimming up in the mist. 

“ He — Dickey — was one too easy, or too 
smart for me ; I don’t know which ! ” reminiscent 
laughter getting the upper hand ; “ I started him 
off homeward, across the candlegrass — told him 
to swing straight ahead! Next thing I knew, he 
had headed round and started back towards the 
marsh flood — to look, for the fogged fish ! 
’Twas ‘ up to me — ’ ” 

“ Well, if we all play up — when it’s * up to 
us — ’ with as much dash as you did, I guess this 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


little old world’s score will shortly look better ! ” 
broke in a hearty voice, at once strange and fa- 
miliar, like the boy-passenger’s — being the voice 
which had applauded Oakley’s “ three-base hit 1 ” 
as it termed the triple rescue. 

A man, following on the youthful passenger’s 
heels, had jumped off the slipping car as it 
wavered to a standstill, had run forward a few 
yards over trestle ties, dropped onto the marshes, 
and now came sprinting across ragged grass and 
sand-mounds, toward the group at the flood’s 
edge. 

Oakley looked up at the tall stranger’s ap- 
proach and dimly saw a face which — together 
with the strong tones — seemed to have come into 
his life to stay — to shape it, somehow! In the 
gathering dusk it affected the boy curiously, like 
some strong rock-face, carved by nature high up 
on a granite cliff, of his own Cape Ann, reflect- 
ing the sunshine of humor and kindliness round 
the edges. 

Like the “ great stone face ” of Hawthorne’s 
beautiful story, it seemed as if beckoning a fel- 
low to climb and grow into its likeness. 

It was all sunned over, now, up to the grey- 
tinged curls on the man’s forehead, as he ap- 
proached, bareheaded. 

“ Hullo ! Not one of the three of you seem 


46 GREENGAGE ” 


43 


much the worse for your ducking ! ” Thus he 
hailed the trio, cheerily, surveying rescuer, child, 
and bear. 44 You did the sort of thing which 
makes a body feel the better for seeing it — old 
man ! ” laying a warmly unceremonious hand on 
Oakley’s shoulder. 44 ’Twas quick play: good 
work ! ” 

“ Say, Oak ! you’re getting it handed out to you 
all round — ain’t you ? ” grinned the <?ar conduc- 
tor, scampering after his passengers, beaming on 
Oakley, as an old acquaintance. 44 Stars ! it 
seems natural to see that boy in the hero busi- 
ness,” he added, with a bubble of laughter : 44 his 
father, Capt’n Rose — quite a young skipper, too 
— received a piair of marine glasses from the 
British Government, year before he was drowned, 
for saving the crew of a British barque. Oak’s 
uncle, Capt’n Cephas Dart, has a reg’lar museum 
of such things! But, say, we’d better not wait 
to hand out any more bouquets ! ” with another 
lightning chuckle. 44 1 must be starting her on 
again — ” pointing to the stranded car — 44 unless 
we mean to hold up passengers at the Beach end, 
till midnight! 

44 Give me the child ! ” he added, stretching out 
his. arms to Dickey, 44 I’ll carry him up the bank. 
Wet as a feathered sea-mouse, ain’t he? If he’s 
staying at the Neck along with you,” glancing at 


44 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Rag’s cousin, “ we can drop you both together, 
there ! Wish I could offer you a free ride, Oakie 

— but I know your homestretch lies off there, 
across the marshes. All aboard, gentlemen ! 
All — aboard! ” 

He of the rock face, the grown-up passenger — 
with a kindly nod — swung hastily upward to the 
trestle, in the conductor’s wake : “ Hope to see 

you again some time ! ” he called down to Oakley. 

“ Rag’s ” cousin lingered an instant ! 

“ I’ll see you to-morrow ! ” he panted, rush- 
ing the words. “ My aunt will want to thank 
you; I’m staying with her in that big house 

— over on the Neck! My surname isn’t Gage, 

though ; it’s commoner garden Green ! ” call- 
ing back over his shoulder as he ran, at the con- 
ductor’s repeated “ All aboard ! ” “ In full, 

I’m called Alden Gage Green — twisted into 
Greengage , by a Latin School gang — and, for 
variety, ‘ Plum ’ ! ” chattering laughingly while 
clambering back onto the grey ties, as if to 
cover boyish emotion, and the awkwardness of 
unspoken thanks. 

“ So long, ‘ Plum ’ !” chaffed Oakley, laughing 
and shivering in a breath — as the ducking be- 
gan to tell on him — yet feeling as if, in the past 
three minutes, life’s horizon had enlarged ra- 


44 GREENGAGE ” 


45 


diantly, despite a wetting to his armpits, and the 
clammy fog. 

44 So long, Oak. See you to-morrow. See 
you on Georges! ” called down the boy-passenger, 
gaily flinging back the Cape au revoir, which he 
had picked up, while landing on a car-seat, be- 
side Dickey, the draggled sea-mouse, just as the 
conductor 44 started her on again,” over the tres- 
tle. 

44 So long ! 4 See you on Georges ! ’ ” sang out 
Oakley, starting to drag his weight homeward, 
with never an inkling of how many a true word 
of prophecy is spoken in jest, as his thoughts 
flew off to that dangerous rendezvous of fisher- 
men — Georges’ Shoal ! 

44 Goodness ! I like that fellow with the plum- 
my nickname,” muttered the skipper’s son, his 
expression that of one who feels he has struck a 
lucky windfall, in the shape of a new acquaint- 
ance. 44 He's all right ! ” laughing exuberance 
triumphing like a riding light amid depressing 
dusk and fog, while a solitary rescuer dragged 
a ton-weight of soaked clothing — plus himself 
— as it seemed, homeward. 44 Nothing of — of 
the flowerpot 4 chappie ’ about — him ! ” with 
chattering teeth. 

To Oakley, the misfortune of being 44 reared 


46 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


in a flowerpot,” in too luxurious soil, was the 
worst misfortune that could befall “a fellow!” 
There were, even, times when he half reveled in 
difficulties which must, perforce, be faced and 
conquered along the path of that ambition on 
which he had dwelt, this afternoon — watching 
the race between three-master and “ fisherman.” 
Even so, had his gallant father and “ Uncle 
Ceeph — ” drivers both — ofttimes exulted in 
hanging on to their sail, against the odds of some 
terrible breeze, when running for market, with a 
trip of fish. 

“Well! Well — this has been a kind of ban- 
ner evening, for me — or, it will be, if I find 
Gran’pap feeling pretty chipper, when I get 
home — in spite of the trestle scare, and a duck- 
ing one didn’t bargain for! Rather puts a fel- 
low in ‘ Queer Street,’ though when he finds 
himself ‘ It,’ for five minutes ! ” laughed the boy 
half shamefacedly, under his breath, dwelling 
on that interview by the flood’s edge. 

But his chanting thoughts dropped into a rest- 
less minor key, as anxiety about his grandfather, 
elbowed into the background by a wild rush of 
feelings and happenings, hustled to the fore, 
again. 

Oakley’s wet clothing fairly steamed on him 
as he broke into a jog-trot run, in his longing to 


“ GREENGAGE ” 


47 


be at home — entirely forgetting his deserted 
basket of wood-chunks and coke. 

Yet he could not get over the feeling that this 
was a “ banner evening — ” unless subsequent 
events should prove it otherwise. The evening 
which had brought into his life “ Greengage ” 
and the man-passenger who had applauded his 
“ three-bagger ” ! The evening which, last but 
not least, had introduced him to “ Rag,” with his 
cuteness and credulity — which had left the boy, 
himself, hugging a flattered consciousness of hav- 
ing played up with a dash when danger’s game 
“ put it up to him ! ” 

“ I suppose if there was no scare in things, 
there’d be no fun! ” he concluded — and began to 
hum, suddenly — irrelevantly — apropos of noth- 
ing but the last word : 

“ Hanki-panki-chanki-Wun ! 

That’s Chinese for the name of Fun! 

They invited their cousins, the Moon and Sun, 

To the Chinese Emp’ror’s wedding!” 

feeling as if the peculiar style of fun of this even- 
ing, deserved a roundabout name. 

“ The moon is ‘ coming to the party,’ now ! ” 
he murmured, glancing at a silver frill decorating 
the edge of a fog-bank. “ By-and-by, she’ll send 
the milky fog skidooing ! I — I wonder how 
long that fellow with the plummy nickname is 


48 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


going to stay in the big house, on the Neck,” his 
thoughts strolling back to “ Greengage,” who had 
given indications of much “ funded ” fun in 
him — during their brief interview, at the flood’s 
edge. 

“ I suppose not more than a few days longer 
if he’s attending the Boston Latin School,” con- 
cluded Oakley. “ Let me see ; this is the third 
of September : school reopens a week from Tues- 
day — I’ll be getting back into ‘ High,’ then ! I 
presume as he's Dickey’s cousin — nephew to R. 
A. Gage, part-owner of the Essex shipyard, 
where they build so many fishing vessels — that 
‘ Greengage ’ finds the plum drop into his mouth, 
pretty easily — that he hasn’t to hustle round and 
help himself, while he’s ‘ pulling off ’ an educa- 
tion ! ” 

Oak’s eyes were riveted now on a blurred pin’s 
point of light, ahead. It was the home-light, 
streaming forth from a shallow house — which 
on closer approach would seem “ all face ” — 
whose outline, yet indistinct, loomed at the edge 
of the dank salt-marsh. 

The contrast between this, his abode, and the 
airy summer dwelling on the Neck — which, 
rightly or not, he took as symbolic of a fair 
amount of worldly wealth on the part of Gage’s 


“ GREENGAGE ” 


49 


folks — struck him with momentary discourage- 
ment. 

But the feeling worked off in another verse of 
the Chinese Emperor’s nuptial ditty, which — 
since he had picked it up from the mouth of a 
high school classmate — had often opened a 
safety valve for “ bothered ” thought : 

" Some on' elephants went to church ! ” 

Some on camels ‘ humped a perch ’ ! 

Those who didn't were left in the lurch, 

At the Chinese Emp’ror’s wedding ! ” 

“ Well ! I may not be able to ‘ hump a perch ’ 
to ‘ get there ’ ! ” mused the boy, thinking of 
ambition’s distant goal. “ But — ” laughingly 
— “ I’ll arrive just the same! I’m not going to 
be ‘ left in the lurch,’ no, sir! 

“ Why ! Gran’pap’s sitting in state — in the 
front parlor — if you please! ” he exclaimed hap- 
pily, a second later. “ And, by gracious ! ” in 
open-mouthed surprise, “ he’s got the old drum 
down — ’seems to have been tapping away on it ! 
He must be feeling lots smarter than he did, 
earlier in the day ! 

“ Drive her, Gran’dad ! Drive her ! ” he 
shouted exuberantly, taking the reverberating tap 
of drumstick on parchment for granted, as no 
hollow sound reached him, while dodging, un- 


50 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


seen, past misted window panes. “ Go ahead 
and drive her! It’s a long time now since you 
were chief noisemaker. Oakley felt as if he 
were again “ going up in the air,” like a cork, in 
the buoyancy of intense relief, as he slipped in 
through the side door, with no cloud, thus far, on 
his banner evening! 


CHAPTER IV 

THE “ SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 

a\T7 ELL, Oak! you’d be a good one to 
\/\/ senc ^ a f ter trouble; you take so 
^ * long to get back ! Have you been 

most of this afternoon — part of the evening — 
gathering a few chunks of wreckwood and 
lumps of coke ? ” It was an old man who spoke, 
in tones, half chaffing, half querulous, as Oakley, 
having slipped upstairs — ripping off wet cloth- 
ing on the way — and scrambled into his Sun- 
day best, put in an appearance, dry and dapper, 
in the small lamplit parlor, where the speaker sat, 
fondling a worn drum between his knees. 

The “ boomers,” as his grandson called the 
drumsticks, drooped idly from his bunched fin- 
gers. If, now and again, one struck the taut 
parchment by chance, it brought forth a dreary 
sound, like an echo from a sea-cavern; evidently 
it was only in appearance that the veteran drum- 
mer had resumed, his role of “ chief noise- 
maker ! ” He had not been “ driving her,” at all 
— keeping his hand in by practising spirited tap- 
51 


52 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ping flourishes, as Oakley had seen him do, in 
other days — or, if so, only after a very listless, 
“ pass-the-time-any-old-way ” fashion. 

As the boy entered, he wearily withdrew his 
gaze from a letter lying on the table near by — 
an open sheet which looked very much as if a 
spider having half-drowned himself in an ink- 
bottle, had, subsequently, crawled over it. 

“I — • I’m dead sorry for being so long away, 
Gran’dad ! ” Oak answered earnestly, with a 
suddenly dulled feeling, as if trouble had stolen 
in during his absence, without “ being fetched ! ” 
Despite his fiddling with the drum, the old man 
looked nothing “ smarter,” but paler and more 
languid than at noon. 

“ I’d have been home long ago, only, that I 
— I struck a snag in the shape of the cutest 
kiddie you ever saw ! ” threw off the boy, try- 
ing to divert “ Papa John,” and fight off his own 
depressed feeling. His father is Mr. Gage — of 
the firm of Damon & Gage — who own the Es- 
sex shipyard. I got off some of the nonsense 
to him — the child, I mean — that you used to 
joke about to me, when I was little — about fish 
losing themselves in the fog swimming up in 
misty mid-air ! ” chuckling. “ When I thought 
he was safely headed for home, back with him 
to the marsh flood — to look up the fogged-fish 1 


THE “ SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 53 


He got onto the trestle ; I had to hook him off — 
there was a car coming ! I — I never thought 
he'd bite so easily ! ” laughing, again, at thought 
of “ Rag ” swallowing whole the nonsense-bait 
— and careful, because of a warning which the 
doctor had given on a recent visit, to give his 
grandfather no thrilling details. 

Already, the latter’s face looked brighter! 

“ It’s too bad that you’ve had to wait so long 
for your supper; I’ll dive in an’ get it ready, 
right away ! ” added the grandson, who, of late, 
had been chef to this male household of two. 
“ What ! you’ve had a letter from Aunt Lo ? ” 
he gasped as turning to leave the room his eye 
was caught by the spidery sheet on the table. 
“ Has — has that old girl, really, h’isted the bal- 
loon on her pen at last ? ” in the fisherman’s 
slang which was second nature to him, from 
breeding and association. I’d know her hand- 
writing anywhere — just the first two letters of 
a word, and the rest ‘ snake-trailed ’ out ! There 
are more * snake-trails ’ than usual in this one,” 
Oakley bent to scan the page, with amused af- 
fection. 

“ No wonder the handwriting is snaky ! ” 
His grandfather’s broken tones brought the boy 
erect, with a start. “ She — Lora — has — has 
got a catarac’ coming on her eyes; the doc- 


54 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


tors say it’s from her having worked so steady at 
flag-making for the last few years. I — I made 
out the hang of the letter — myself. I’ve been 
studyin’ over it, for an hour or two — off an’ 
on.” 

“ A cataract — growing on her eyes — on 
Aunt Lo’s? ” There was a cataract in the boy’s 
speech as he forlornly echoed the news; the gay 
river of happiness which had been bounding in 
him a while ago, was falling — bumping over 
rough rocks. 

He had always been fond of his so-called aunt, 
his grandfather’s stepdaughter — Lora Belle 
Bailey — the “ Lora Belle,” as Oak called her — 
declaring that such a combination of names was 
only suited to a fishing vessel. She had kept 
house for his grandfather and himself for several 
years ; and it was a sad picture which rose before 
the boy: of a little woman, proudly — patiently 
sewing stars on Old Glory, until they all melted 
together into a blinding stardust before her dim- 
ming eyes — then, went out, taking the clear 
light of day with them! 

“ You — you sure you read it straight — the 
letter ? ” he questioned, dropping on a chair, look- 
ing blankly at his grandfather. 

“ I guess I did ; my sight stays by me better 


THE 66 SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 55 


than anything else Eve got!” sorrowfully an- 
swered the latter, uneasily shifting a leg, hol- 
lowed and shrunken at the back, below the knee- 
pan. 

“ Papa John,” otherwise John Rose, had been 
a drummer during the Civil War, was wounded 
in the left leg at Antietam; gangrene set in, and 
though surgeons were able to save the limb, he 
was left with a permanent lameness and a pen- 
sion of sixteen dollars a month. 

After a time, his jerky limp had not interfered 
with the leading of an active life — sloop and 
dory fishing off the Cape shores, as well as taking 
parties of summer visitors out sailing — the 
peaceful flow of years being broken by one wor- 
rying spell when he went into the fish-curing 
business, and made a failure of it. 

The lameness had not even deterred him from 
occupying the post of chief noisemaker, i. e. 
drummer in the veteran's band to which he be- 
longed, though, he could only parade with his 
old comrades for short distances. 

But of late all activities had become more or 
less irksome; he had frightened Oakley by one 
severe attack of breathless faintness. The doc- 
tor, on his last visit, had dropped a hint to the 
boy about a- “ weak heart,” qualifying the warn- 


56 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ing by a hope that his grandfather might live for 
years by taking it easy, “ puttering round,” avoid- 
ing shock and violent exertion. 

This warning which Oakley’s thoughts had 
held at bay, a few hours ago on the sun-gilt beach, 
refusing to dwell on it, now recurred sharply to 
the boy — seeing how pale and “ bothered ” his 
grandfather looked over the letter, with its sad 
news pathetically “snake-trailed ” out in semi- 
illegibility ! 

“ Don’t think of it any more, now, Gran’pap ! ” 
he pleaded, pulling himself together, and — for 
the sake of one dearer still — shutting out the 
pitiful vision of the little flag-maker. “ They 
operate for cataract; don’t they?” thinking 
vaguely of surgeons and hospitals ; “ Aunt Lo 
may see, again, as well as you or I do — in a few 
months.” 

“ She may — but I hardly think she’ll ever be 
much use for earning her own living, again ! ” 
murmured the old man. “ No ! don’t mind about 
supper for a little while, Oakie,” as the boy rose, 
muttering something, “ I want to talk to you ; 
I’ve sat here, studying over things for the last 
two hours — seems now as if I saw my course 
straight an’ — pretty clear. I got down the old 
drum, because, in past times, whenever I — I 
struck a cooler, as your father would call an ice- 


THE “ SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 57 


berg — in the way of circumstances, I mean — ” 
Papa John smiled, rather plaintively — “I could 
sheer off from it better to a breeze from the little 
old drumsticks/’ fondling the wooden “ boomers.” 
“ You know, Oakie, that your Aunt Lo is only 
my stepdaughter.” 

Oak nodded in amazement: he had never be- 
fore been reminded of the fact. 

“ Some folks might say that it isn’t ‘on me ’ 
to provide for her — see her through this — this 
blindfold business : I think it is — for reasons ! ” 
The veteran’s voice was firmer. “ She was just 
ten, when I married her mother; ’twas she first 
called me ‘ Papa John! ’ An’ when your gran’- 
mother died, Oak, leaving me with four young 
ones, to take care of, Lo was as nice a girl, by 
that time, as ever set foot on the Cape! There 
was a couple o’ fellows ‘ daffy ’ about her ; one 
wanted to marry her right away; he could have 
given her a good home, too. ‘ But he can wait 
for me if he wants me,’ said Lo, when I started 
to advise her : ‘ you’re all the father I ever knew, 
Papa John; I’m not going to leave you alone — 
lame as you are — with the kiddies, until they’re 
big enough to look out for themselves ! ’ 

“ Well, sir ! ’twas that very winter we had a 
reg’lar scourge o’ scarlatina here on the Cape; 
all mine came down with it — your father among 


58 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


’em, Oakie; an’ — an’ he was the only one to 
pull through!” Papa John’s voice broke: three 
little graves near the sea, dug within a fortnight 
of each other; the memory of it, even now, 
scorched like hot iron! 

“ That was rough on you, Gran’pap ! ” mur- 
mured Oakley feelingly. 

“ Aye ; and ’twas rough on Lora, for she took 
the sickness — in its worst form — after stand- 
ing by, for weeks, nursing the children ! Sakes ! 
how she nursed ’em ; your father owed his 
chance o’ living to her. She recovered, too, but 
the scarlatina left a kind o’ sting in her; she 
wasn’t the same afterwards in health or looks. 
The fellow she liked — sheered off ! ” 

“ The trash! ” fired off Oak, indignantly. 

“ Well ! I guess she didn’t want to have him — 
all broke up, as she was. An’ she never mar- 
ried. She might have been in a snug harbor — 
a good home now; this blind fog might never 
have struck her, but for what she did for me an’ 
mine. Seems as if ’twas my part to stand by her 
— see her through her hard time ! ” 

Oakley was silent. Suspicious of what was 
coming, he felt breathless — befogged — as he 
had done for a fraction of time on the trestle — 
facing the slipping car. 

“ Lora hasn’t saved much, I guess,” went on 


THE 64 SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 59 


his grandfather’s languid tones. 44 Any money 
she has, must have gone already on her living, 
since her sight began to fail ! And I — I’ve 
none to send her — unless I dip into that two 
hundred an’ thirty-odd dollars, which I lodged in 
your name, from time to time, in the savings 
bank, Oakie ! I meant it to go toward your 
Tech’ school expenses, if you should succeed in 
winning a scholarship. But — what are we to 
do?” piteously. 44 It’s — it’s up to us! Lo 
must have what she needs ! ” in a wailing pant. 

44 I suppose so, Gran’ pap!” Oakley’s muffled 
voice seemed to hail — as “ Rag’s ” had done, a 
while ago — from some distant, foggy quarter ; 
the future — t that ambitious future — was thick- 
ening up ahead of him; it had not been exactly 
clear, before. 

44 If she — if your Aunt Lo had all — all 
our little nest-egg, ’twould just about tide her 
over this shoal! ” said Papa John, in low, specu- 
lative tones, eyeing his boy furtively. 44 It — it 
might, even, get her a snug berth for the rest of 
her life — should the operation prove a success. 
She’ll be fifty-five in January; when last I went 
down to see her, she showed me an elegant build- 
ing: 4 Papa John! ’ says she, laughing, 4 if I had 
a hundred and fifty dollars, to pay as entrance 
fee — after next January — I could get in there, 


60 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


an’ spend the rest of my days in luxury — with- 
out bein’ any tax on you; it’s the Illingham Old 
Ladies’ Home ! ’ 

“ I don’t know how much in earnest she was, 
then ; I guess, she’d be glad enough — now — to 
feel there was a refuge open to her, if her sight 
comes back. Our two hundred-an’-thirty would 
do it, Oakie — I’ve been figuring things out — 
’twould pay that entrance premium, an’ the bal- 
ance would support her until after the operation 
comes off ! ” 

“ Why can’t she return here and live with us 
afterwards — if the operation is a success ? ” 
questioned the boy breathlessly; he had resolved 
this afternoon not to “ dip into ” his grand- 
father’s little hoard more than should be abso- 
lutely necessary, but without the prospect of 
even a crumb from the “ slice ” which had been 
saved for him, the Tech probability began to 
look rather dim — with books, clothes, and train- 
fare to be provided for during a lengthy course. 
“ Aunt Lo is a great housekeeper — can ‘ walk 
all round me ’ on the ’conomy track — ” with a 
chirking-up jingle of laughter. “ I guess we 
can all three ‘ hop a ride ’ on the back of Uncle 
Sam — wiggle along on your pension — till — 
till I graduate an’ get a berth in the office of 
some naval architect ! ” 


THE “ SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 61 


Papa John’s eyes avoided his boy’s; then, met 
them, full, with a glance of indescribable af- 
fection: “Yes! Yes — she might do that, if — 
if the pension doesn’t drop, before the operation 
takes place ! ” he said, in tones low and dragging. 

The grandson sat, staring rigidly, for a mo- 
ment or two — reddening, blinking — as if there 
were some pungent fume in the room with him: 
“ Don’t Gran’pap — don't! ” he muttered, break- 
ing silence sharply — catching at the meaning in 
the veteran’s words. 

But Papa John went on, with the look of a 
surgeon who must wield the knife : “ If it 

should, Oakie, I want you to remember one 
thing, that — while I’m fond of Lo as if she 
were my own daughter — she — she isn’t in it, 
with you, so far as feelin’s go — yet, I seem to 
see that it’s up to me to provide for her — now — 
far’s I can, if it takes every cent I’ve saved ! 

“You’ve your father’s blood in you, boy!” 
The old voice took on a challenging ring. 
“ You’ll make a man of yourself — somehow — 
if you don’t ‘ get there ’ by one road, you will 
by another! Your father — hadn’t a drop of 
‘ lobster blood ’ in him ; no, sir ! His crew al- 
ways said of him that he was a fine Skipper — 
and a ‘ stayer :’ that he’d ‘ stay till the last gun 
fired,’ before giving up what he went after — 


62 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


4 stick it out till all was blue,’ in the dirtiest 
weather on the Banks — while there was a chance 
of getting fish ! The 4 Grand Bank horse / 
they used to call him,” with a proud quaver of 
laughter ; “ he took such a 4 lot o’ beating ! ’ 

44 And you’re — like him ! ” Each word was 
now, pointed with a shining faith which, to Oak, 
seemed to kindle a star above him, in the tiny 
room. “You’re like him — Oakie boy; when 
you feel 4 half-licked,’ you’ll come up stronger ! 
I’m not afraid for you > if you never see the inside 
of a Tech’ lecture room. But Lo? What can 
she do ? She can’t face things any longer — it’s 
4 up to — me.’ ” 

The boy’s eyes were staring — wet ! His chest 
heaved over a hot, salt wave, rising in him. But 
as the energetic tones, challenging him, broke — 
as his grandfather leaned back, pale and breath- 
less — while the drum rolled away over the floor, 
Oakley sprang to his feet. 

44 Papa John! if you speak another word until 
after supper, I — I’ll — gag you ! ” he gasped 
desperately. 44 I’ll dive in — get busy — have it 
ready, in a flash ! ” 

The next instant, in the adjoining kitchen, a 
wrought-up boy was letting off steam by rating 
the fire which had burned low, and would not 
readily flash, again! 


THE “ SNAKE-TRAILED ” LETTER 63 


“ Pshaw ! there are times when a fellow could 
light you with a piece of damp bark and a snow- 
ball ; to-night, you’re slower than creeps ! ” he 
complained. 

But the “ snowball ” fire did, presently, chirk 
up — get in its revenge; while Papa John was 
seated before his cocoa and toast, it burned the 
morsel of steak which Oak was warming over, 
for himself, to the dull black of his forgotten 
coke, ere the preoccupied chef set it on his own 
plate. 

“ You’ve cooked ‘ the black ox,’ for yourself, 
son — as a fisherman would say!” joked his 
grandfather, recovering somewhat, his tone very 
tender, his face clearer, as if he had eased his 
mind of a burden. 

But Oak scarcely tasted the flavor of the 
“ black ox — ” the burnt meat — though his 
strong young teeth disposed of it mechanically. 
Its hue seemed symbolic of the dark clouds — 
rainbowed along the edges by his grandfather’s 
faith in him — which had changed the aspect of 
his banner evening! 

“ Who’d imagine that it’s barely an hour since 
I was chaffing f Plum,’ alias ‘ Greengage ? ’ ” he 
murmured to his plate. “ I hope he will look me 
up to-morrow; Gran’pap would like him; he’s 
‘ full of it! ’ ” recalling the exuberant vitality — 


64 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the feeling and fun — fairly exhaled by the Latin 
School boy. 

Luckily, he felt no premonition of another high 
tide, deeper, greyer than the marsh flood — 
stealthily rising to flood his life — through which 
he must wade, alone, groping in “ sun-down ” 
fog, ere setting eyes on “ Greengage,” again ! 


CHAPTER V 

FOR REASONS ! 

T HE “ black ox ” disposed of — supper 
over — Oakley coaxed Papa John back 
into the tiny front parlor, and saw him 
safely ensconced in his armchair, near the re- 
freshing air from a window, before which the 
moon, sailing up, came openly “ to the party ” 
now in robes of sheeny film, mounted upon a sil- 
ver chariot of thinning fog. 

“ Gran’dad isn’t going to ‘ re-chew ’ his 
troubles, to-night — if I can head him off ! ” de- 
cided the boy, hiding away “ Aunt Lo,” as rep- 
resented by her half-legible letter — that brought 
a lump into his throat as he touched it — under 
the cheery wing of “ Mr. Dooley,” reposing in 
song form, atop of a wheezy old parlor organ. 

Oak spun up the organ stool, which he seldom 
decorated, rang the changes on the Irish philoso- 
pher’s name for a minute or two in a ragged 
bass of good possibilities; then whisked round to 
his grandfather. 

“ Feel equal to playing our duet to-night? ” he 
65 


66 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


inquired gaily. “ You need only tickle her 
lightly, with one ‘boomer/ Gran-pap!’’ placing 
the worn drum, on end, between the veteran’s 
knees. 

Slipping back to the stool he beguiled the 
asthmatic organ into coughing out : “ Marching 
Through Georgia,” the drum, feebly tapped by 
what had been once a master hand, coming in 
with a weak flourish on the refrain : 

“ As we go marching through Georg-i-a ! ” 

At one time it had been a spirited duet, when 
the vim in the boy-player’s touch passed over into 
the wheezy instrument — when the drum came 
in with patriotic thunder! But it did not go 
very well to-night. And Oakley, fearful of do- 
ing the ailing veteran more harm than good by 
exertion, promptly shut down on the concert as a 
means of entertainment. 

“If he goes to bed thinking about Aunt Lo 
and her troubles, he won’t sleep a wink ! ” mused 
the boy, and tried the diverting power of conver- 
sation, his eye roving airily round the room in 
search of something not dingy on which to pitch, 
for a subject. He quickly found it. 

“ Great Scott ! my two best girls look rather 
dusty. I — I’ve been neglecting ’em lately,” he 
gasped, with a sentimental glance at a pair of 


FOR REASONS 


67 


old prints, over which, in their spindle frames, 
fully a century had passed — the household god' 
desses of the Rose family ! 

One depicted an athletic maiden, shortwaisted, 
dark-locked, with a rosy mantle trailing ban- 
ner-like behind her — perching on a cloud, 
somber and solid as a football — which she ap- 
peared to be kicking along! At her feet, under 
dim glass enshrining her, was inscribed her 
name : “ Fortitude” ! 

“ It’s about time old Forti made a touch-down 
with that football — after standing over it for 
the last hundred years ! ” grumbled Oakley, 
making a stale joke, which he had perpetrated 
some two-score times before, in the hope of keep- 
ing his grandfather’s thoughts off the “ snake- 
trailed ” page of that letter hidden under Mr. 
Dooley. 

“ She’s a bird, though ! ” he went on ardently. 
“ A peach — an’ no mistake : Prudence isn’t in 
it with her ! ” 

“ Within the slim frame of the companion 
picture was a fair-wigged, pensive maiden, lean- 
ing on a marble urn — staring disconsolately into 
a hand-mirror. Beneath, in yellowing letters 
was printed: “Prudence dwelleth with Wis- 
dom ” ! 


68 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ If Prudence sees Wisdom in that little hand- 
glass, she certainly isn’t stuck on her! ” joked the 
boy again. 

He had never yet been so much “ under the 
weather,” that these, his “ best girls,” could not 
win a smile from him ; in fact — being, yet, at a 
stage when baseball has more charms to soothe 
the boyish breast than have girls — Oak’s rudi- 
mentary devotion toward the other sex, was 
bunched at the feet of these shortwaisted charm- 
ers. 

There were grades in his devotion : Fortitude, 
rosy-cheeked, ruddy-mantled, indomitably kick- 
ing fortune’s ball, was queen of his affections; 
Prudence came in as “ Miss Second-Best ” ! 

After paying brief homage and exhausting his 
stock of jokes in their direction, the boy’s glance 
dropped to a fancy earthenware jar, on a cheap 
cabinet beneath them. He shook up its dark 
powdery contents, illumined by metallic glints. 

“ This ‘ magnetic sand ’ is half-full of dust, 
too ! ” he exclaimed — ruefully. “ I must dive in 
and clean house, to-morrow,” in a virtuous 
spasm of resolution! “ Uncle Ceeph brought me 
this, six years ago,” blowing on the metallic 
powder, “ when he made that ‘ fletching ’ trip to 
Iceland waters; I remember his telling me about 
its having such magnetic properties that they 


FOR REASONS 


69 


strew it round the North Pole, to keep it in 
place ! ” laughing, as he recalled another stand- 
ard joke of the northbound fishing fleet. “ I 
wonder if I had swallowed fishermen’s chaff 
for grain — as my friend, ‘ Rag ’ does — where 
Fd be to-day ? ” 

Oakley shook out a little of the magnetic sand 
on a table and began experimenting with the 
point of a needle, to test the attraction between 
the two. The boy’s brows puckered themselves 
into an expression of puzzled thought: he was 
evidently busy with some problem beside the 
amount of magnetism in Iceland sand — even 
while he hummed unconsciously — irrelevantly l 

“The Emp’ror’s dress was quite unique, 

’Twas lined and quilted with double bezique, 

And his pigtail was crowned with a bunch, of leek. 

At the Chinese Emp’ror’s wedding ! ” 

If Papa John’s mind could circumvent an icy 
“ cooler ” better — when he encountered it on 
life’s sea — -to the breezing up of the little old 
drumsticks, his grandson’s thoughts generally 
heaved anchor to the gay, if inappropriate ditty 
of the yellow Emperor’s wedding-feast. 

He went all over that wondrous function, 
again, graced by the presence of those august 
relatives, the Moon and Sun — thinking, how- 
ever, not of their Solar Highnesses, but of a 


70 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


long “ uninvited ” relative of his own — who 
had, at times, won royal mention among his fel- 
lows, as a “ King pin ” in the fishing fleet ! 

Impulsively, a question burst from his lips, 
while he played with the dark brown sand, 
touched with glints of steel : “ Gran’pap ! I — 

I wish you’d tell me — exactly — why we never 
see Uncle Ceeph now? ” 

The next moment Oakley was ejaculating, un- 
der his breath : “ There ! if I’m not the biggest 
‘ chump,’ alive ! After heading him off from 
thinking of poor Aunt Lo, I’ve started another 
subject — probably a hot one! ” his lips twitching 
ruefully. 

But the invalid, albeit he started, did not look 
distressed at the mention of Oakley’s skipper 
uncle — great-uncle, rather : Cephas Dart be- 
ing, as before mentioned, his mother’s relative! 

“ Funny ! I’ve been wanting to talk to you, 
about him — Oak,” replied John Rose, rather 
feebly ; “ I was thinking of it, this very afternoon. 
You’re not one to tease much with questions 
about other folks’ affairs — I’ll say that for you 
— but I imagine you guessed that there was some 
trouble between him an’ me about the time we 
went into the fish-curing business, together — 
smoking and curing halibut 4 flitches.’ ” 

“ Well, I did tumble to the fact that there was 


FOR REASONS 


71 


‘ hot play,’ of some sort, after the smoke-house 
burned down. Got on to it — somehow — by 
4 underground railway ! ’ ” laughed the boy, while 
his needle flirted with the pursuing sand. 

“ I backed you, Gran’pap,” he murmured, 
looking up, loyally. “ I knew right was on your 
side; that Uncle Ceeph had a dash of pepper 
lodged in him!” laughing again. “That’s 
why I haven’t looked him up, between trips, in 
Gloucester — though ’twas always 4 in, an’ out 
again,’ with him — or in Essex, either, since — 
he turned ‘ hayseed ’ ! ” with an amused grin. 

“ ‘ Right ’ wasn’t altogether with me ! ” 
John Rose shook his head slowly. “ That is, he 
said things he regretted an’ I made it hard for 
him to swallow the hook — eat his words ! ” 
sadly. “ This was how it all came about : you 
remember how we went into business together, 
years ago; well, he put up most of the money 
to buy the buildings an’ rig up a smoke-house, 
where the ‘ flitches ’ would be cured. He was to 
supply them, too, the salt fetches — being the 
halibut taken by his vessel, which he owned 
then — lost her afterwards — on the long trip to 
Iceland, Greenland, and Labrador waters ! ” 

Oakley nodded, seeing in imagination those 
salted fletches, each representing the half or quar- 
ter of a kingly halibut, minus head and fins, and 


72 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


sometimes weighing sixty pounds. He knew 
much of what it cost the trawlers to pro- 
cure them, too, facing black fog, gale, ice-pack, 
away up in Arctic seas, as the vessel — taking 
Iceland the farthest point, first, steered thence 
nor-nor-west, skirting Greenland, fetching forth 
into Labrador waters to fish on the northern 
Funk grounds — where it’s “ all Funk,” from 
latitude fifty to fifty-eight ! 

There can be no “ funk ” in the breasts of the 
trawling navigators — Oak knew that well ! He 
was ready to admit, on his Uncle Ceephas’s behalf, 
that it might render a man temporarily “ crazy 
as a swordfish with a dart in him,” to see the 
fruits of one such “ fierce ” trip consumed to 
black crisps in the flames of a burning smoke- 
house ! 

“ I put what little money I had into the busi- 
ness,” his grandfather went on; “I was to handle 
the shore-end — smoking, mellowing, an’ pack- 
ing the fish ! But I fear I made a poor showing 
as a business man — we had big firms to com- 
pete with — the first year we were shy on profits 
— after the vessel’s crew and our help were 
paid. 

“Second year that our firm was running, I 
started in with a big batch of choice flitches; for 
Ceeph had got home from the long Iceland trip, 


FOR REASONS 


73 


with a full fare. He had his vessel fitted out for 
swordfishing, right away, and went out again — 
for a week or so at a time. 

“ Well! he was beating up the harbor, one fine 
evening, after some wild work with ‘ swordies,’ 
when he saw a big blaze, stretchin’ skywards, 
from one of the smaller wharves: he knew, in a 
flash, ’twas our buildings ! ” 

Oakley made a popping sound in his throat; 
the narrator’s weak voice went on tremblingly : 

“ I had been over to the smoke-house, half an 
hour before the flames broke out, to see that the 
slow fires were all right an’ bank the sawdust up 
around ’em ! An’ when — when the firemen got 
in, a little later, that sawdust — which should 
ha’ prevented the smoking flame from spreading 

— was all kicked aside ! Some one had lent the 
fire a hand — that’s certain — cleared a trail for 
it to do mischief ! ” 

“ Great Caesar ! I wish I knew who he was — 
the rascal ? ” Oakley’s blown eyes sparkled, with a 
steely glint, like the Iceland sand. 

“Your — your Uncle Ceeph hinted, at first, 
that it was — I — ” Papa John’s voice was 
muffled — “ that it was / who lent the fire 
a boost — to cover up a muddle I’d made of 
the books — an’ the business generally! When 

— when I saw him, he was half-crazy, ‘ drag- 


74 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ging back on his cable, like a wild bull ’ — as his 
vessel would do in a hard blow on Georges! 
Cable parted; he said things he was sorry for; 
‘ If you had kept away from the smoke-house, 
last night, I guess, the buildings wouldn’t ha’ 
burned down : ’ that’s what he said to me ! ” 

“ ’S-scott ! ” hissed Oakley, between clenched 
teeth. 

“ Lame as I was, I started to go for him ! ” 
muttered mild Papa John. “ We — we might 
ha’ been whacking away at each other, still, but 
he felt ashamed the next minute an’ bolted off! 
Later, that same evening when I was over at 
Mandy Story’s,” mentioning the nearest neigh- 
bor, “ Ceeph came to the door — wanted to speak 
with me — to offer a sort o’ ’pology, I knew. 
There was a bunch o’ men sitting round Mandy’s 
fire : 6 Let him come right in an’ swallow his 

mad talk, before them all ! ’ said I. 

“ That was too much for him ; he shot off 
again, being a seasoned skipper, like your father 
— a ‘ stayer ’ — accustomed to handling men — 
not backing down from a stand he’d taken! 
Knowing his loss, I should have met him — half- 
way ! ” 

“ Maybe so ! ” admitted Captain Cephas’s 
grandnephew. “ But when I see him next, he’ll 
have to own up that you're the straightest — 


FOR REASONS 


75 


whitest — man ; that you couldn’t — ” the boy- 
champion’s choking voice broke. “ Who d’you 
suppose did lend that fire a hand ? ” he demanded 
savagely. 

“ Well, I never had but one enemy as I knew 
of,” came the reluctant answer; “used to be a 
neighbor o’ mine, long ago, on another part of 
the Cape, within the limits of a prohibition town- 
ship ; he sold rum illegally, I ‘ gave him away,’ 
to the police; they wouldn’t have nabbed him, 
but for me. Aye ! an’ I’d do it again, too ! ” 
Papa John’s tones were suddenly strong. “ His 
place was the ruin of more’n one young fellow I 
knew ! ' * 

“ He was an old offender, the judge was severe 
on him, jail and a big fine; he vowed that, if he 
waited a lifetime, he’d get even with me! He 
was hanging round Gloucester at the time of the 
fire. I found out afterwards that he managed 
to drop poison into your Uncle Ceeph’s ear, di- 
rectly he stepped ashore that evening, through 
one of his crew — sort of underground railway 
business, as you call it, Oakie — about me an’ 
the way I’d been running things, in the busi- 
ness ! ” 

“ Tell me his name? ” savagely panted the boy. 

“ No — no ! That’ll do you, now ! ” parried 
the grandfather, shutting down on disclosures. 


76 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“I — I couldn’t swear he was at the bottom of 
the mischief — didn’t see him — kick the sawdust 
— aside ! ” feebly. 

“Well! if ever I run across him, later on, I 
promise you I’ll fix him ; he’ll get his, all 
right ! ” growled the high school boy, his young 
fist jerking upward, as if for “ a right-hand 
lead;” at sixteen, he could handle himself well, 
in a mild bout with the gloves. 

“ Hush — boy ! Hush ! He was drowned — 
nine months ago — left one — son ! ” The ail- 
ing man abruptly, slid back in his chair, a breath- 
less huddle : “I — wish you’d run over to — 
Essex — Oakie,” he tremored out. “ Look — 
look up Ceeph — ask him to come see me : go — 
soon — for reasons! ” 

“ I’ll do anything you like, Gran’dad,” mur- 
mured the boy. “ Maybe, you’d better go to 
bed, now,” tenderly, “you’re all used up; we’ve 
talked too much, I guess — first about poor Aunt 
Lo, and now — Gracious ! whatever made me 
bring her up ? ” he gurgled, in an undertone, 
biting his lip. “ Do you want to read your 
psalm aloud ? ” speaking again for his grand- 
father’s ear. “ ’Better not, to-night ! ” 

But Papa John made a pleading gesture for the 
big-print psalm-book. 


FOR REASONS 


77 


Oakley was about to stop him, as he began; 
the psalm was not that in order for the evening, 
but at the old man’s look he refrained. And the 
voice which seemed to have no reserve of breath 
to back it, read on, with frequent catches, until it 
came to a certain verse : “ ‘ I — I will fear no 

evil/ for — for reasons ! — ” stumbled Papa 
John, interpolating with his own words “ ‘ for 
Thou art with me/ ” he added, hastily picking 
himself up, completing the passage. 

It was nearly dawn, many hours later, when 
Oak happening to awake, as if some one had 
called him, was startled by a gasping sound, 
coming through the open door of his grand- 
father’s room. 

He was by the other’s bedside, like a flash! 
Papa John sat upright — faintly, fighting for 
breath. Oakley flew to a closet, to fetch some 
drops, which the doctor had left to be adminis- 
tered, in case of another severe heart attack. 
Colorless as the glass he held, the boy stooped to 
force them between the shaking lips. Those lips 
moved, half-spilling the reviving potion. A 
hand was feebly lifted. 

“ It’s — it’s no use, Oakie — I — knew ! ” fal- 
tered a dying breath. “ That — that two hun- 
dred an y — thirty — I meant it — for you , to 


78 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


help you — make a man — ” in a spasm of 
gasps. “ But — now — now — it’s ‘ up to me ’ : 
your Aunt Lo — for reasons! ” 

“Yes! Yes! Gran’pap; she shall have it — 
every cent — to see her through ! ” exclaimed the 
boy, in a delirium of fright, interpreting the 
gasping incoherency. “ Only swallow this ! ” 

But Papa John’s head had slipped back. Oak- 
ley saw only his cheek, now; a rim of smile 
touched it, like the wan reflection of a crescent 
moon; the lip-corners trembled; ever afterwards, 
the boy felt persuaded that the last fluttering 
breaths which parted them came freighted with a 
half-conscious murmur : “I — will fear — no 
evil — for reasons ! ” 

A minute or two later, that lonely boy was fly- 
ing downstairs, lamp in hand, to awaken Mandy 
Story — the nearest neighbor — to fetch a doctor 
from among the summer colonists, on the Neck. 
As he passed the open sitting-room door, a rosy 
Fortitude stared down at him, pitifully, from the 
old print on the wall — through the dim glass 
covering her — as through a swimming veil of 
tears ! 


CHAPTER VI 

“ OFF COMES MY KITE !” 

a T — I couldn’t have borne it — if he hadn’t 
smiled ! ” It was three weeks later, and 
Oakley Rose sat in a three-cornered, 
whitewashed den of the shallow house on the 
edge of the salt-marshes, thinking over the 
strange things which had happened to him; sor- 
row always seems strange and unnatural to a 
merry-hearted boy. 

And, to Oakley, in spite of the doctor’s warn- 
ing, it had come like a numbing “ bolt from the 
blue! ” There had been no gradual preparation; 
no involuntary glancing ahead to a time — draw- 
ing nearer — when his grandfather must slip 
quietly away from old age. Papa John came of 
a family of Cape Methuselahs; his father had 
gently “ stepped out ” at ninety-seven ; two old 
cousins were, now, smart and spry at the respec- 
tive ages of ninety and ninety-three ; beside them, 
John Rose — at seventy-two — had seemed to his 
grandson, almost, a youth. 

79 


80 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


It was this element of shock in his grief which 
seemed to the boy to have temporarily “ knocked 
the bottom out of things.” During the last two 
weeks since life had shaken down again into its 
former routine, minus his grandfather’s pres- 
ence, he had mooned round heavy-heartedly — 
somewhat after the manner of a fishing vessel 
drifting on the languid swell of the old sea 
which on the banks supersedes a hard “ blow.” 

“ His gran’father’s death seems to have taken 
all breeze out of the boy’s ambition,” sadly criti- 
cized old “ Mandy ” Story, whose home was situ- 
ated an acre away, on the edge of the salt- 
marshes. “ I guess Oak feels rattled by the sud- 
den shock, an’ lonely — as if he found himself on 
the deck of a vessel which had turned pitchpole 
under him, an’ come up again — with him as 
sole survivor ! ” 

Mandy — once skipper of a Georges’ hand- 
liner, who had actually experienced the astound- 
ing sensation of having his own vessel perform 
the acrobatic feat of turning head over heels un- 
der him, coming up with a third of his crew cling- 
ing to the rigging — had aptly hit off Oakley’s 
frame of mind. 

The boy felt desolately that life's deck had 
turned a somersault under him — now, he stood 
alone on it! 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


81 


Yet, joined to this, he had another feeling; 
namely, that if he could only stick to a familiar 
course, he might, still, go ahead and reach port, 
all right. 

In other words, that if it were possible for him 
to “ get back ” into high school — there — amid 
fresh, friendly faces, he could plug grief’s vac- 
uum with study — work as he had never done 
before, towards the obtaining of that scholarship 
in the Institute of Technology which would 
launch him on the road to becoming a naval archi- 
tect. 

And in so fulfilling his dream he would have 
the consolation of feeling that, in a way, he was 
working for his grandfather — carrying out his 
dear wishes — “ Papa John ” having been as am- 
bitious on his boy’s behalf as Oakley was for 
himself ! 

But whenever — during the past week or so, 
since he had begun to think clearly, again — Oak 
looked ahead, in a furtive way toward the future, 
he knew that his dearest plans had come to an 
untimely end ! No more high school for him — 
he must “ chuck study,” and go to work ! Not 
even a fighting chance to enter “ Tech ! ” 

“I — I guess, I’m ‘ down and out ! ’ ” he mur- 
mured despondently on this afternoon, late in 
September, when he sat, sadly thinking over the 


82 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


happenings of the past three weeks, in the tri- 
angular den, on which, formerly — when in a 
buoyantly ambitious mood, he used to confer the 
honorary title of “ drawing office,” or “ design- 
ing room ! ” “ I’m out of the game, now ; there 

doesn’t seem to be the ghost of a show for me to 
get back into it, again — either — not the ghost 
of a chance ! ” 

Everything in this whitewashed den bore wit- 
ness to its boyish owner’s tastes, and to the lines 
along which such ability as he had would develop 
— if cultivated. 

The staring white plaster was studded, and 
cracked, with a variety of imperfect drawings, 
tacked up in all directions, representing every 
type of small or medium-sized craft — from cat- 
boat to steam-yacht. 

The furniture consisted of a couple of chairs, 
a deal drawing-desk, fashioned by Oakley him- 
self, on which lay a pair of compasses, rule, 
triangle and “ ship’s curves ” — cut out of card- 
board — to serve for guidance in the crude archi- 
tectural drawings. 

Surmounting the desk, on a shelf, was the 
block model of a fishing vessel, cleverly whittled 
out of white pine, beautifully shellacked — with 
its five lifts, or different sections of timber, out- 
lined in painted streaks of light and dark, like 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


83 


the stripes on a zebra's side — save, that they ran 
lengthwise, not across, the graceful body. 

This was flanked by a “ busted ” cornet, a worn 
baseball glove, the polished sword of a mighty 
sword-fish — a four-foot spear, propped on end, 
against the whitewash — and, lastly, by a pair of 
light boxing gloves, gift of a “ summer boarder," 
with a passion for manly prowess, who had taught 
Oakley to handle himself in the manly art of 
defence. 

On the desk, too, were the boy’s high school 
books, mostly pertaining to mathematics; he had 
been pursuing the course of study which would, 
land him, with advantage in Tech, to take the 
course in Naval Architecture. And, with these, 
some odd numbers of an illustrated marine maga- 
zine, from which Oak had culled most of the 
instruction worked out in his imperfect draw- 
ings. 

Not on any one of these objects, however, did 
the boy’s eyes rest long, this afternoon, as he 
mused over that last faint smile of “ Papa 
John’s,’’ without which, he told himself, he could 
not have “ borne things — ’’ on his own changed 
prospects ! 

The one attraction toward which his gaze 
turned, every now and again — lingering, with 
the sadness of a farewell in it — was the care- 


84 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


fully drawn sail-plan of a “ fisherman,” crudely 
original ! 

In a budding flash of genius the would-be 
naval architect had seen floating before his mind’s 
eye the vision of a vessel such as he wished to 
create. Profiting by all the instruction culled 
from articles on marine drawing, and by his inti- 
mate, surface acquaintance with fishing vessels, 
he had, during the past summer vacation, worked 
out the inspiration on paper — drawing the sail- 
ing outline of what was, to the uninitiated eye, 
an able, handsome schooner. 

He had patiently run in the vessel’s deck and 
“ above-water contour,” located and outlined her 
mainmast and other spars — sketched her spread- 
ing sails, even to their reef-points. 

Regarding the sail-plan as the firstfruits of 
ambition, he had framed the achievement, hung 
it across an angle of the den’s whitewash. 

Against that blank white corner, his “ fisher- 
man ” showed him her “ slick ” broadside, now 
— spreading a pictured cloud of canvas, such as 
he had admired on the homing, racing “ dog,” 
gallantly picking up her heels — seen three weeks 
ago, from the sunlit beach. 

His eye went over the details of her muslin, 
again : “ four lowers,” working sails, for 

strength: three kite-pinions, topsails and stay- 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


85 


sail, with “ little old gasoliner,” for buoyancy and 

go ;” in the latter lay her ambition — the real 
life of the vessel ! 

“ She’s a good-looker,” commented Oakley, 
pensively — silently — regarding her. “To all 
appearance, a corking fisherman — quite a craft ! 
But — ” heaving a long breath — “ but I suppose 
there are so many ‘ outs ’ about her lines that a 
vessel built according to that plan — if she could 
be built, at all — would turn out a regular 
* Mother Bunch — ’ bunchy old hooker ! One 
might as well put to sea in a shoe-box !” with 
semi-tragic gasp. 

“ And the worst of it is, that, in all probabil- 
ity, I’ll never turn out anything b-better, now — 
not, till I’m an old man, anyhow — if I have to 
‘ chuck ’ study and go to work — that’s where the 
screw bites ! ” 

The boy’s color deepened to dull, scalded red; 
he blew hot steam from his nostrils : 

“ If I can’t go ahead with mathematics and 
mechanical drawing — how’s a fellow ever to 
‘ get there — ’ arrive at making the stiff calcu- 
lations necessary to the designing of, even, a 
small vessel — not, only, her sail-plan — but her 
construction plan, as well? 

“ I’m out of it all,” his inward mercury drop- 
ping to zero. “ I’ll never graduate from — - 


86 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


anywhere: never land in Tech, to — to juggle 
with Trig: and the Calculus! Off comes — my 

— kite! ” staring through salt spray at those am- 
bitious kite-pinions on the penciled fisherman 
which must “ come off ” her, in hurricane 
weather. “ Oh ! it — it’s sickening,” finished the 
boy — with a half-checked sob — as if Trigo- 
nometry and the tough old Calculus were two 
radiant horns of the seventh heaven, to which he 
might never soar. “ I can’t graduate : if I 
have to knock off school, I’ll probably, get a job, 
running an elevator — or maybe, skinning fish 
in a Gloucester flakeward! As Mandy Story 
says, I’ve got to ‘ quituate’!” 

Now, saving for the use of the last concocted 
word, old Captain Mandy had, as a matter of 
fact, said nothing of the kind, when, to-day, he 
tried to rouse Oakley out of his apparently un- 
accountable lethargy! 

“ Ain’t it about time you were h’isting the 
mains’l again, Oak ? ” bluntly inquired the old 
Georges’ shellback. “ Ain’t it ’bout time that 
you got into high school, once more, an’ spread 
your muslin, headin’ for that scholarship in tech- 
nical school that you were so keen after — a 
while ago? You ain’t goin’ to ‘ quituate,’ now 

— ’stead o’ grajuatin’ — are you? ” 

“ I can’t go back into high school ! ” returned 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


87 


the boy, gruff with grief and raw disappointment. 

“ Why not ? ” Mandy was searching the 
young fellow’s face for some telltale sign of lazy 
“ lobster blood — ” the fishermen’s equivalent for 
yellow-streak — though, he failed to see how the 
veins of a Rose could come by such tainted flow. 

Perhaps, Oakley’s eyes reassured him; the old 
skipper went on gently: 

“ If it’s a question o’ money that’s fogging 
you, Oakley boy, I guess you can poke your way 
out, all right! There’s that two hundred an’ 
thirty-odd dollars which he — your gran’father 
— lodged in your name in the savings bank ; he 
told me about it — how ’twas to help make a 
man of you — now’s the time for you to dip into 
it, a little ! ” Mandy cleared his throat. “ Your 
lan’lord wants the house ; he’s got a young couple 
that’ll move in an’ buy the furniture ‘ off you ;’ 
the sale of that, such as it is, will cover — cover 
late expenses — I guess ! You’ll have your little 
legacy, free an’ clear ! ” 

And all the time, a speechless boy heard, like 
the sobbing undertow of a strong current, a dy- 
ing incoherency : “ I meant it for you — Oakie ! 
But — now — it’s up to me: your Aunt Lo — for 
reasons! ” 

“ Of course, that two hundred an’ thirty will 
about go the length of a ‘ snubbing line,’ boy, if 


88 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


you start off into the city, to board; you’ll be 
hauled up short in mid-channel ! ” went on the 
old Georges’ man, drawing his figure, now, from 
the launching of a vessel. 

“ But you can stretch your little legacy into a 
good long towing hawser, if you’re sateesfied to 
live on here, as you’ve been doing. Wife an’ I 
have been talking it over; we’ll take you to 
board, Oak, for a couple o’ dollars a week — 
less, if we can make it ! You might come in with 
us an’ welcome — paying nawthing — ” wailed 
the generous ex-skipper — “ only, I’ve nine of 
’em, already, to fill up an’ clothe! 

“ You’re like our own boy, Oakie,” Mandy 
Story added softly ; “I — I thought a heap of 
him ” nodding towards the shallow house, which 
in these days seemed an empty shell. “ And your 
gran’mother was a Story: if you dive back far 
enough into the history of anybody on this Cape, 
you’ll find a ‘ Story attached to it ! ’ ” he chuckled 
— bringing forth his one pun, to cover up emo- 
tion. 

“ By glory ! I thought the summer folks were 
’most all gone from that col’ny on the Neck; but 
here’s two 4 left-overs,’ now, steering across the 
marshes! Want me to take ’em out sailin’, I 
guess; and the little old Julia — ” alluding to his 
boat — “ smelling so o’ fish that you could nibble 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


89 


a meal off her planks! Land o’ Goshen! that 
reminds me : I forgot to tell you, Oakie,” hoping 
to arouse the silent boy, “ that the day after — 
after it happened — ” with a glance down at the 
empty house, above which Oakley and he were 
sitting, at the edge of the woods — “ that very 
morning after — three callers came to see you ; 
a lady, a young feller and a kid; the boy, he 
began to talk a big streak about your yanking 
the child off the trestle — saving him from being 
run over by the car! I told ’em I guessed you 
didn’t feel like meetin’ strangers, just then; they 
said they were obliged to leave that day, but 
they’d write to you ! ” 

They had done so ; “ Greengage,” a boyish, 
awkward fraction of a letter; his aunt — “ Rag’s ” 
mother — a gratefully long one ! Oak had 
lacked the spirit to answer either. 

“ Land ! I must be off an’ get my boat ready,” 
thus Mandy had hastily wound up the conversa- 
tion, lumbering to his feet. “ If you follow my 
advice, son, you may stretch that two hundred 
an’ thirty — so’s to leave you a little when you 
start in at Tech; you can earn ‘ good money ’ as 
bell-boy at one of the big summer hotels, round 
here, during the long school vacation. Well — ” 
as Oakley cleared a raw throat to speak — to 
explain something yet untold — “ well, we’ll chew 


90 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


it over again, this evening; here are them sum- 
mer fellers, heading fer us ! ” 

And Oak had dropped down from the edge of 
the sunlit woods to the home which he must va- 
cate — to his whitewashed den, and the company 
of the penciled “ fisherman,” hitherto, regarded as 
a firstfruits ! 

But he was not “ chewing ” over Captain 
Mandy’s fatherly proposal — while he admired 
and criticized her — all in one breath ! 

He knew well enough — had known every min- 
ute of the time, since he began to reconsider his 
future — that he could stretch Papa John’s little 
slice of legacy into an efficient towrope — using 
old Mandy’s figure — to tug him into ambition’s 
port of opportunity. Into the port where he 
could load up with all knowledge necessary for 
designing a vessel of the fishing schooner’s type 
that might be built — larger, fleeter “ windjam- 
mers,” too! 

But another picture seemed standing out, also, 
from that cheap cracked whitewash : the figure 
of Aunt Lo, the little flag-maker, with the white 
frost creeping over her eyes : he heard his grand- 
father’s murmur : “ It’s up to us — to see her 

through ! ” 

“ I guess it is ! ” admitted Oakley, staring 



The figure of Aunt Lo, the little flag-maker. — Pcuje 90 







“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


91 


in imagination at that poor blind craft, with 
blurred eyes : “ I’m not a flowerpot fellow ; I 

can face what comes ! But — she — ? ” 

If from some dusty corner of his being a claw- 
ing whisper stole forth that, as yet, not even 
Captain Mandy knew of his grandfather’s change 
of intention with regard to the hoarded slice — 
that no one need know — that innuendo could 
not fasten, for a second, in a heart fed by no 
mean lobster blood ! 

Such temptation got never “ a show ” in the 
daylight honor of the boy’s soul! 

Yet, in another direction, there was danger of 
this skipper’s son allowing his veins to be stained 
by some drop of the cowardly current which fish- 
ermen despise. 

“ Off comes my kite!” he reiterated, behind 
trembling lips — staring at the “ kited ” fisher- 
man — feeling in the depression of new grief 
that, probably, never again, for him, would am- 
bition’s light kite sport aloft, beneath the gilded 
ball of the main-truck on lofty topmast — like 
that silvered gaff-topsail of the homing vessel 
which he had watched on the golden afternoon, 
over at Candlegrass Beach. “ / can’t sail ahead, 
at a clip any longer; looks as though I were out 
of the race for good ! ” 


92 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


The young fellow rose, strode across the three- 
cornered den, as if it were a cell — its whitewash 
symbolic of the whole colorless future ! 

He tried to “ shake ” his hove-down feeling, to 
rekindle Papa John’s star of faith, by recalling 
his words : “ I’m not afraid for you, Oakie — 

when you feel ‘ half-licked ’ you’ll come up 
stronger ! ” 

But it needed something closer than another’s 
faith in him — something “ closer than breath- 
ing; nearer than hands or feet — ” to save what 
was best worth saving in a boy, now ! 

All of a sudden, that boy flung himself on his 
knees, between rude desk and “ kited ” fisher- 
man — with a slow, bumping sob ! 

It began to seem as if he were alone, in fog — 
in some small dory, such as fishermen occasion- 
ally put out, to mark the direction of their trawls 
— with a solitary man in it, to blow the horn! 
As if the riding light in the puny bow — of 
which he had heard travelers tell so often — had, 
to all appearance, burned out. And he was 
tossed by the writhings of the old swell — not yet 
subsided after a hurricane ! 

Up from the midst of that “ old sea ” he found 
himself praying — echoing every simple prayer 
of faith which childish lips had learned, mixed 
with groping words of his own — the tumult 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


93 


finally resolving itself into one craving cry, which 
his grandfather had taught him, almost before 
he could grasp its meaning: “ Lead me in a 
straight way; lead me in the 'Way Everlast- 
ing!’” 

Over and over again he murmured the words; 
they seemed to bring that grandfather nearer — 
till suddenly a strange thing happened. As by 
an instantaneous flickering up of the riding light 
in buffeted dory, it was to the boy — groping 
of late with man’s problems — as if he caught 
sight of something, at once more bracing and 
anchoring, in himself than he had yet struck: of 
the Way, the Truth, the Reality, within and — 
as it seemed — beyond him — of God — of a 
riding hope which waves could not quench ! 

It was his “ baptism of life,” of which the vis- 
ible rite was a heralding symbol ! 

Strangely quieted, he stood up. In feeling, he 
was back aboard his vessel, now ; the anchor was 
out; firmly bedded; but the old sea still dragged 
at the patch of deck on which he stood! And 
presently it began to breeze up again; there 
were signs and whispers of another hard blow. 

The hurricane whispers assailing him, were 
these : “ Yes ; you may go ahead and do your 

best. But, when all is said, you’ll only be like a 
vessel ‘jogging’ in the dark — heading for no 


94 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


berth, in particular! No more ‘ swinging ahead 
lively/ in clear daylight for you, Oak : you’re out 
of everything ! ” 

Now, it was Oakley who was “ dragging 
back ” on his new-found cable, “ like a bull on its 
tether.” But the anchor, just bedded, held. 

The son of Captain Norman Rose — “ Grand 
Bank horse ” — set his teeth. 

“ I guess I’ll have to go ahead an’ do my living 
best, anyhow — whether I see where I’m heading, 
or not! ” So flashed his thought. “ I may * jog 
till morning — ’ but I guess, I’ll strike daylight 
some time — an’ shape a course. I’m not ‘ licked ’ 
yet ; he wouldn’t want me to feel — knocked 
out ! ” thinking of the man who had been father, 
mother, and all, to him. 

“ He said my father had no drop of lobster 
blood in him — that he’d ‘ stick it out, till all was 
blue,’ in any old weather, before giving up what 
he went after — that Uncle Ceeph was ‘ dead- 
game,’ too ! ” 

A low laugh — shaky — still, a laugh — the 
first in three weeks, rippled from Oakley’s hot 
lips. 

He stood opposite the “ kited ” fisherman, gaz- 
ing at her critically, his head to one side — no 
good-bye in his glance, now ! 

“ I’ll draw the lines of a real vessel — yet 


“ OFF COMES MY KITE ” 


95 


— that won’t act like a shoe-box , if men put to 
sea in her!” he gurgled, his jaw squaring. “I 
may never graduate from Tech — ” a long sigh 
— “ with a full-fledged degree as Bachelor of 
Science, able to figure on a big steel ship ! ” 

“ But many a man has designed a hand- 
some ‘ fisherman — ’ and fast yacht, too — who 
never saw the inside of a Tech lecture room ! If 
I can’t get a decent job in a city which will allow 
me a chance to attend evening classes in ‘ ship- 
draughting ’ and mathematics, I’ll strike for 
work in some country ‘ mould-loft — ’ ” gasping 
in the light of a new idea — “ or shipyard, even 

— where a fellow could begin at a bottom notch 

— low-down as the green keel,” laughing trem- 
ulously, “ and pick up some practical knowledge 
of vessels ! There are books — rafts of them — 
on naval architecture : one can dig for an educa- 
tion!” 

Already Oak, in his unsettled “ jogging ” was 
striking daylight! He beamed on the imperfect 
outline of his penciled fisherman — on those light 
kite-sails which, in the living craft, would stand 
for hustling ambition! 

“My kites must come off, now! The little 
old gasoliner — too!” he deplored articulately, 
with another bubble of laughter, undismayed — 
dropping his glance to that light balloon-jib,” 


96 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


sheeting out to bowsprit end — which, in a brisk 
breeze, lends such added motor power to a vessel 
that fishermen christen it the “ gasoliner ! ” “ I 

guess — for Oakie Rose — ’twill be a case of 
dodging along under ‘ four lowers ’ — or, even, 
bare poles, for a while! But I’ll get the gaso- 
liner and light kites on her again — by an’ by — 
or my name will be Mud ! ” the “ her ” symbolis- 
ing self; the wind-cornering sails ambition’s rein- 
stated plans — spreading, breeze-filled — toward 
achievement! 

“ I’m not going to * quituate ’ — not till I’ve 
drawn the lines of a better craft than this one ! ” 
frowning now on the penciled sail-plan against 
the whitewash — regarded sadly, a few minutes 
ago, as the “ jumping-off point ” of talent. 
“ ‘Quituate ’ ? No, Sir ! 99 breathlessly. “ Not un- 
til I’ve designed a little windjammer that’ll be 
launched — an’ ‘ sail some — ’ if it’s only a sixty- 
foot ‘ boat ’ ! ” 

In the rekindled smile — “ dead-game,” though, 
tremulous — on the boy’s face, there was a core 
of light which seemed flashing this message back 
to some distant peak : “ I will fear no evil — 

for reasons ! ” 


CHAPTER VII 

THE BEAR’S DEN 


O CTOBER was closing- its second week 
when — on an afternoon so mild that 
summer seemed to have tripped back to 
pay a flying visit — an electric car was speeding 
along a white highroad from Beverly to Essex ! 

On a back seat was a young fellow whose eye 
eagerly studied the magnificent full-bosomed 
woods swelling to a smiling horizon — on the 
right, at some distance from the track — woods 
unrivaled in Massachusetts — now, in the ruby 
prime of autumnal beauty! 

Of a sudden, the youthful passenger swung 
round on his seat, and addressed a middle-aged 
conductor. 

“ I wonder if you could tell me whereabouts 
in these woods Capt’n Dart’s farm is ? ” he asked. 
“ Capt’n Cephas Dart ? I know it’s on a clear- 
ing — somewhere off, in that direction?” 

The conductor stepped obligingly along the 
running board, to his passenger’s side. 

“ Capt’n Ceeph! ” he exclaimed smilingly. 

97 


98 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ I guess I can start you on the trail for his little 
farm — all right! But you won’t find the Cap 
— there! He — he’s bound off” 

“ Bound — off?” Oakley echoed the words, in 
gaping disappointment. “ You mean that he — 
he’s gone fishing, again ? ” 

“Well! I can’t say, for a dead certainty, that 
he’s ‘h’isted the jib yet!’” laughed the con- 
ductor. “ He was on the point of doing so, when 
I saw him last, three days ago — had sold the 
farm, secured a vessel — comparatively new one, 
the Dorcas Bliss — and was about starting for 
the neighborhood of Green Bank, fresh hal- 
ibuting! He’s probably heading now for some 
of his old lucky haunts round there: Hawkins’ 
Spot, Pat Whalen’s Island — Johnny Camp- 
bell’s Spot ! ” The laugh became more pro- 
nounced : “ I guess ’twas the red cow did it ! ” 

declared the uniformed official. “ ’Twas she 
4 chased him to sea,’ again, all right — all 
right! ” 

“The — cow?” ejaculated Oakley, joining in 
the laugh, despite hollow disappointment; a cou- 
ple of other passengers on the seat before him — 
dignified, elderly men — pricked up their ears, 
furtively edging round sideways, ostensibly to 
study the woods — really, to entrap some of the 
enlivening conversation. 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


99 


“Yes; she was a skittish ‘ Devonshire ! ’ she 
got so mean he couldn’t stand her ! I went over 
to see him a month ago,” the conductor’s laugh 
bubbled up afresh from a well of reminiscence; 
“ land sakes ! I sha’n’t forget it — in a hurry. 
The old man was sitting in the grass — the ‘ old 
man,’ I call him, he ain’t much more’n fifty-five, 
but I fished with him for years out o’ Gloucester ; 
he’s the old man to me, still — an’ he had a 
hawser out to the red heifer’s leg. But he 
wasn’t towing her ; no, sir ! ’twas she did the tow- 
ing.” The conductor halted to ring the bell 
overhead and take on a passenger; he resumed 
the tale of woe : “ ‘ Thunderation ! Bill,’ gasps 

the Cap ; ‘ she’ll be the death o’ me. She 
broke into my fine ensilage corn day before yes- 
terday, ate it down to the last stalk, or what she 
didn’t finish she trampled flat; the — the fist- 
eyed, hammer-headed shark ! ’ He shook his 
own fist at her then. 

“ ‘ I can’t save a leaf of cabbage from her ! ’ he 
says. ‘ An’ as for turnips, she got into a fine 
patch, this morning; if I hadn’t managed to 
get a snubbing-line on her, she’d have eat’ till she 
bust — like the old fellow I heard of, at school, 
that was drowned in a butt of wine.’ 

“ ‘ Why don’t you get a second cow, skipper ? ’ 
I said, hardly able to speak for laughing. ‘ A 


100 FROM KEEL TO KITE 

“ staid old hooker ” that ud set this one a good 
example ? ’ 

“ ‘ Another ? ’ bellows the Cap, while that red 
termagant just played rigadoons with him — 
dragging him from one end of the grass-plot to 
the other. ‘ A second ? Great Kingdom ! I’d 
rather be in State’s prison than have two. I’m 
thinking of selling her an’ the farm together,’ he 
says. ‘ Thinking of “ h’isting the jib ” an’ going 
fishing again. Guess, I wasn’t cut out for a 
“ hayseed,” anyhow ! ’ ” 

“ I guess he never was ! ” seconded Oakley. 
“ Uncle Ceeph, without a deck under him 
wouldn’t be Uncle Ceeph — ” drawling the e 
sound in the name — “ not for any length of 
time ! ” 

“ What f The old man’s your uncle, is he?” 
questioned the ex-fisherman, now conductor, hav- 
ing halted the car meanwhile, to set down some 
laughing passengers. 

“ My mother’s uncle ! ” explained Oakley. 
“ I’m his gran’nephew. Great guns ! if he’s 
* bound out,’ I’m sorry I didn’t get here just a 
day or two earlier ; I — I might have got a 
chance to ship with him for Johnnie Campbell’s 
Spot ! ” laughing, with a merrier heart than he 
had carried for many days. 

“ It mayn’t be too late yet,” declared “ Bill,” 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


101 


the ex-fisherman. “ I ran across the Cap in 
Gloucester, three days ago; he had sold his farm 
then — the ‘ hammer-headed shark/ too ! ” with 
a grin. “ He was putting the proceeds into a 
quarter share in a fine vessel, just fitted up for 
halibuting. But I understood him to say there 
was a little delay in signing some deed about the 
farm an’ he wasn’t just sure when he’d be cast- 
ing off! He may be waiting over in Gloucester 

— or, possibly, even, at the farm — straightening 
things out for a start ! ” 

“ In that case, I may still get a chance to 
‘ chuck my bag an’ jump a berth ! ’ ” heaved out 
Oakley, with a reviving boisterous note in his 
laughter. 

He had no idea, now, of surrendering the am- 
bition to which he had dedicated himself anew 
in the last chapter! But after the foggy grief- 
scenes of the past few weeks, the boy felt that it 
would “ set him on his feet again ” to get off 
upon the “ briny ” for a trip of a month or two. 
Also, he knew that there was much knowledge to 
be gained about a vessel — such a little wind- 
jammer as he had vowed, some day, to originate 

— from being, day in, day out, on her sailing 
deck! 

Conductor Bill’s next words were rather 
dampening ! 


102 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ I guess you won’t get a chance to ship as fish- 
erman, unless you can handle sail ! ” he said. 
“ An’ the old man was always against taking 
‘ kids/ as passengers, on a long trip ; didn’t 
want to be responsible for what they might hear 
or pick up, among a crew of all sorts! Still, 
being a gran’nephew, he might give you a show 
— a corner in his stateroom — call you his hired 
4 nubbins ! ’ ” laughing. 

“ Capt’n Ceeph generally gathers a good crew 
round him ! ” It was one of the grey-haired dig- 
nified passengers in front of Oakley, who broke 
into the conversation, facing round. “ I know 
him well ; ’twas I got him his first vessel. He’s a 
fine skipper — sound judgment ! Ceeph’s a good 
boy, all right ! ” with benignant smile. 

Oakley returned the smile, bowing with such 
deference as he could muster, divining that he 
was in the presence of one of Gloucester’s mag- 
nates — an important ship-owner! To hear 
one’s granduncle spoken of as “ a good boy,” 
might have produced a slight shock, had he not 
known that along the fishing city’s waterfront 
all men are “ boys — ” short of ninety — per- 
haps they seem so beside their aged schoolmis- 
tress, the sea! 

“Well! if you want to look up Capt’n Ceeph, 
I’d try the farm first, if I were you ; he may pos- 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


103 


sibly be there still ; I’ll drop you at the next turn 
of the road,” volunteered the conductor, after a 
lull in the rifted conversation. “ Steer straight 
for the woods, across those meadows there ! 
When you get within the tree-belt you’ll find a 
track of some kind — ’taint much more than a 
cow-path this side — keep on climbing till you 
come to a fork, then turn to the right an’ follow 
on — until you strike a clearing and a grey farm- 
house ! I guess, it’s all of two miles from here ! ” 

Conductor Bill was halting the car. As Oakley 
hopped off, he stretched down a right hand and 
gave the boy a “ God-speed-you ! ” pat on the 
shoulder : “ Look out that you don’t get turned 

round in the woods, they’re pretty thick ! ” he 
cautioned. “ If you do, you may have to spend 
the night in the ‘ Bear’s Den,’ and be too late to 
jump a berth for Johnny Campbell’s Spot!” 
with a j ingling send-off of laughter. 

The dignified passenger waved a hand, too: 
“ Remember me to Capt’n Ceeph ! ” he said ; and 
Oakley, having been vigilantly trained by Papa 
John to live up in courtesy to the society of his 
shortwaisted “ best girls ” in the century-old 
prints, lifted his cap as the car sped on, with a 
lingering “ So long! ” 

“ A fine, well-mannered young fellow ! Hope 
he’ll be in time to make the trip to Green Bank 


104 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


with his uncle ! ” remarked the ship-owner. 
“ Didn’t tell you his name — did he ? ” 

“ I forgot to ask,” returned Conductor Bill. 

Meanwhile, Oakley was “ swinging ahead 
lively,” over the salt-meadows, with a heart see- 
sawing between expectation and disappointment. 

“ Wasn’t I a ‘ silly ’ not to write to Uncle 
Ceeph and say that I intended looking him up ? ” 
he deplored silently. “ Or if I had only started 
for little old Essex, three days earlier! But 
there was so much to be straightened out, before- 
hand ! 

Which was true : first, had come the drawing of 
the little legacy, lodged in his name in the bank, 
but bequeathed by a dying whisper to “ Aunt 
Lo.” There followed a journey inland to Illing- 
ham, to visit the half-blind little flag-maker, 
acquaint her with the bequest, lodge that two-hun- 
dred-and-thirty-odd to her credit in a bank, 
there ! 

She had protested against accepting the whole 
slice; wanted to divide the hoarded crumbs with 
him! Oak was ready with a counter kick: 
Papa John had not suggested any division! 

And when a boy looked down from his stal- 
wart five-foot-ten peak on a five-foot-two little 
woman, groping round a poor room — above her, 
pasted on a window pane, a pictured transparency, 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


105 


which she could no longer discern, representing 
the Christ healing a blind man — all his heart 
heaved upward on a warm sea! 

He crossed the little room in two strides, laid 
his hands on the small woman’s shoulders, rock- 
ing her gently, as if she were a child ! 

“ Cheer — cheer up, Lo !” he said, dropping 
the “ Aunt ” in his rush of chivalrous pity. 
“ Don’t you remember how, when I was a lit- 
tle kid, I used to want you to ‘ marry me ’ and 
‘ live in my snow house ? ’ ” with April laughter. 
“Well! you’re not going to stay in that Old 
Ladies’ Home, till you die! Some day,” ris- 
ing on tiptoe, as if to bring that tall day nearer, 
“ when — when I’ve made a name for myself 
as a naval architect — a designer of mercantile 
sailing vessels — you shall come an’ live with 
me,” breathlessly, “ in some ‘ diggings ’ that 
won’t melt ! ” He rocked the harder, as if to 
shake his own buoyant hope into the “ blind-fold ” 
little woman — while, involuntarily, shooting a 
damp glance upward to that rainbowed trans- 
parency, with the healing figure! 

In a boy’s heart — in his divine pity and fel- 
low-feeling — the “ Conqueror of Nazareth ” 
had conquered, again! 

It could only do a fellow good — make him 
feel more decent, through and through, to be 


106 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


started off with such a blessing as “ Aunt Lo ” 
gave him — the remembrance of which brought 
a lump into Oak’s throat, now as he recalled it, 
tramping across the salt-meadows, laden with 
shabby alligator “ grip ” and last winter’s dandy 
overcoat ! 

“ Whew ! it’s warm — for October,” he 
panted. “ Wish I could have found room for 
this coat in the little trunk which I left behind at 
Mandy Story’s, but then there wouldn’t have 
been a hair’s breadth of space for my ‘ best 
girls! ’ ” with a low jingle of laughter. Captain 
Mandy had hazarded a luke-warm suggestion 
about his selling the old prints to some collector : 
“ Great Caesar! I’d as soon sell my gran’mother,” 
was the boy’s shocked answer. 

They had presided over his life from the cra- 
dle — his father’s and grandfather’s, before him. 
Directly, he had begun to pluck up courage 
again they kept him company like foster sisters. 
He would sit, for minutes together, gazing up at 
rosy-mantled “ Fortitude,” poised above the 
cloudy football: “She’s a high-kicker, sure!” 
he’d silently comment, “ but she’s been long 
enough trying to get that ball of fate or fortune 
— whichever it is — 4 over the line guess I’ll 
have to make a touch-down for us both some 
day ! ” 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


107 


However, as yet, there seemed to be small 
chance of his getting into line to make a “ touch- 
down — ” getting back into ambition’s game 
from which he had been thrust out ! On the day 
preceding his meeting with Conductor Bill, he 
had made a trip to Boston, to try for work in the 
mould-loft connected with some ship-yard or 
yacht-yard, where it would be possible, as he put 
it, to learn something about the “ beginnings of 
vessels/’ 

There was no opening for an inexperienced 
draughtsman — none, even, for a wholly green 
ship-carpenter ! And the loneliness of a city 
chilled the solitary boy ! 

“ What’s the matter with my running down 
to little old Essex ? ” he asked himself, suddenly, 
after a wakeful night. 

“ They build ‘ whooping fine 9 fishing vessels, 
there; and, maybe, I won’t get a cold answer, if 
I try for a job! Besides, I want to look up 
Uncle Ceeph,” his heart yearning toward this 
skipper relative ; “ Gran’pap wished me to go and 
see him. Perhaps he needs a farm-hand; if his 
little place isn’t too deep in the backwoods, I 
might get a chance to attend evening classes in 
Gloucester, and have lots of time to study any- 
how ! ” 

And now! Here, he was tramping through 


108 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the maligned backwoods, with a growing fear 
tugging at his heart-strings that Uncle Ceeph 
was already bound out, to trawl for gamy hali- 
but in the clear deeps of “ Johnny Campbell^ 
Spot,” named after the skipper who first struck 
luck there. 

The fear became semi-certainty when Oak, 
after a hot walk, picking his way along wood- 
land paths, arrived at the clearing and grey 
farmhouse, where his “ sail-lugging ” uncle had 
for a brief season turned “ hayseed ! ” 

There was not a sign of life; shutters were 
barred. From afar off in the woods came the 
tinkle of a cowbell ; it sounded as if the “ fisty- 
eyed shark — ” the glutton-heifer, which had 
“ chased his uncle to sea ” — were making merry 
over his discomfiture! 

Oakley shook his clenched fist at the woodland 
glades, screening that cowbell : “If — if I 
could only run across you — you red ‘ hayseed/ ” 
he threatened, “ I’d make you pay ; you wouldn’t 
‘ play rigadoons — ’ with me ! Well ! it’s my 
own fault,” gulping down sore disappointment, 
while pounding vainly on a locked door, in the 
lingering hope that someone might be within, 
“ I ought to have sent Uncle Ceeph a Cape 
paper, telling — telling about Gran’father ; I 
ought to have written ! He may not have sailed 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


109 


yet; may be waiting over in Gloucester! Essex 
lies off in that direction ! ” wheeling round. “ I 

— I wonder,” innocently, “ whether it wouldn’t 
be nearer for me to make a bee-line through these 
woods — if I can — across the salt-marshes into 
the town — than to tramp back to the highroad 
to pick up a car ? Here goes — for a try, any- 
how ! ” 

And a misguided youth plunged off from the 
clearing along a creeper-laced path which he 
fondly imagined formed a bee-line to those salt- 
marshes, beyond thick woods, which intervened 
between him and the historic town of Essex — 
pursued by the far, scoffing tinkle of the cowbell 

— solitary sound amid woodland loneliness ! 

“Gee whiz ! I — I’m right up against it 

now : don’t know which track to follow ! ” 
muttered a puzzled tramper, a little while later, 
having reached another baffling “ fork ” in the 
paths — forlornly ignorant as to whether he 
ought to branch off, or keep straight on. 
“ Whichever trail I choose — I’m sure to come 
out wrong, I suppose! Better to have followed 
the road I knew ! ” recalling, with regretful 
chuckle, the route which he had taken under 
the conductor’s directions, from highroad to 
farm clearing. “Most likely I’ll wind up, by 
spending the night in the Bear’s Den : then, 


110 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


good-bye to my chances of heading for Johnny 
Campbell’s Spot ! ” 

Under the prod of this latter thought — what 
it would mean to spend a night in the woods — 
Oak started off, “ hit or miss ” fashion, on the 
path which seemed most likely to “ lead some- 
where ! ” 

It did — surely enough ! After about half-an- 
hour spent in poking his way through russet 
alleys of October creeper and dwarf undergrowth, 
he found himself approaching another clearing: 
“ Hurrah ! I’ve hit it — a way out ! ” he exulted, 
with smothered yell. “ Oh ! Oh ! Here’s — a 
trap ! ” in blank collapse, as he found himself sink- 
ing ankle-deep in a green “ live ” spot, on the 
edge of a vast alder swamp. “ I came pretty 
near landing in — in that bed of poison sumacs ! ” 
floundering for a foothold, getting plentifully be- 
spattered with mud in his seesawing struggles. 

“ My stars ! this — this must be the Big 
Swamp of Essex woods. I might have blun- 
dered into that bog-hole ! ” drawing in his breath, 
with sharp, shuddering hiss. “ That would 
have meant — ‘ good-bye Oak :’ I — I’d have 
gone out of sight — quick!” feeling, as “ Green- 
gage ” would have phrased it, all unbuttoned in- 
side, while looking askance at long, sleek grass 
thatching an olive pool — bottomless pool — of 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


111 


liquid mud. “ Hooky ! this Big Swamp has its 
trap fixed, all right. 

“ It’s a pretty blind look-out/’ with a ragged 
gasp, his eye sweeping the vast quagmire — its 
belting alders, dwarf maples, brilliant poison 
sumacs! “ You’re lost , Oak; that’s about the 
size of it; plumb turned-round, in the woods! 
Well! the Bear’s Den — any den — would be 
preferable to this ! So here goes for * trying 
back ’ — having another shot at finding my way 
out ! ” 

But the next path, blindly hazarded, could 
scarcely be said to end salubriously, either ! 
After a further spell of foggy wandering, until 
head grew dizzy and soles ached, Oak found him- 
self facing the entrance of a dark, mysterious 
cavern — gruesome to contemplate, for a lost 
traveler ! 

“ Great Scott ! it is the Bear’s Den ! ” he gasped. 
“Wonder if the old bear’s ghost haunts it?” 
thinking of how a hunter had followed the last, 
large savage occupant of these woods in there — 
knife in teeth — had grappled with, and 
slain it. 

“ All the same, ghost or no ghost, ’twouldn’t 
be a bad place to rest — not a half-bad shelter to 
camp out in! ” mused the boy. “ ’T would be a 
corking adventure, too — to spend the night 


112 FROM KEEL TO KITE 

here ! ” emitting a half-hearted guffaw, in an 
attempt to coax up his spirits. 

“ It’s getting on towards five o’clock, now ! ” 
he glanced at his father’s watch which had ticked 
out the wild hours of many a gale — then tucked 
it down, chain and all, into his pocket : “ Pretty 

lonely woods these! Gracious! it wasn’t two, 
when I quitted the car-track — seems like last 
summer. It — it’s low tide inside — too,” moan- 
ingly : “ I’m hungry as Uncle Ceeph’s red cow- 

shark ! Lucky that I’ve some bananas and crack- 
ers in the old grip ! ” 

He explored the recesses of the cave-den, long- 
ingly — despite its savage story ! 

“ But to camp here for to-night would end 
my chances of ‘ jumping a berth aboard Uncle 
Ceeph’s vessel, bound for Green Bank! Guess, 
I’ll land, feet foremost, in another mess, but I’ll 
have one more try at finding an outlet from these 
blamed woods ! ” 

With an endurance which had grown in him 
of late, Oak stiffened his back bone figuratively 
— for more foot-scalded tramping ! And, now, 
at last, Fortune favored him! Utterly and 
entirely “ turned round ” in the woods as he 
was, he naturally bore to the left; and presently, 
with an articulate howl of joy, struck a brook, 
some six feet across! 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


113 


“ Ha ! ‘ daylight — at last 5 he cried : “ This 

brook leads somewhere in earnest — it’s no 
plaguy, blind trail — probably out onto the salt 
marshes ! ” in rapturous incoherence. “ I’ve only 
got to follow it, to strike the town — in time ! ” 

He struck something else, first; following the 
brook for a short distance, he did emerge upon 
salt-meadows, where a man was saving his hay- 
harvest, carting it off in a wheelbarrow — the 
fragrant marsh hay, cut some weeks before — 
: left in long green swaths, to dry. 

Not the sight of this pilot-figure, though — 
welcome as it was — brought that low, breathless 
. whinny of delight from Oakley’s feverish lips ! 

No ! It was a far-off, gilded picture which he 
saw : the blue Essex river, wriggling like a trout 
, in and out amid what appeared to his swimming 
eyes as green eddies in a rolling current of salt- 
marsh! Distant roofs, above it, reeled together, 
j like a shuffled card-pack! 

Sandwiched between them was the heart of 
t the distant picture: a collection of queer ship 
shapes, looking rather like some golden, bat- 
tered “ Armada,” sheltering in the inland river 
. — bathed in saffron and ruby glories of an Octo- 
ber sunset! 

Gaunt scarecrow forms — skeleton vessels — 
j others which, even, . to the far-off eye, suggested 


114 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


a more comfortably rounded appearance of 
plumply-covered bones; and all entwined with 
the river’s glory-spanned blue ! 

Oak sank down on a slight elevation near 
the edge of the woods, rubbing the ache from 
dazzled eyes. 

Those distant vessel-shapes waltzed with the 
water, as if tossed in a golden gale, owing to the 
twisted disturbance in his own brain, “ turned 
round ” by woodland wandering. Yet he inter- 
preted the picture, in dreamy gasps : 

“ The — the shipyards ! Essex shipyards — 
open shipyards — where they build the slick 
‘ fishermen ! ’ Maybe they won’t give me a cold 
answer, there: maybe I’m out of the misery 
now ! ” with a sob of laughter. “ P’raps I can 
find work till Uncle Ceeph gets back — if I’m too 
late to ship — ” 

The boy’s face dropped forward on his knees. 
When he raised it again, dizzy eddies in his brain 
had somewhat subsided. The golden picture was 
still there! 

“ Perhaps I’m 4 out of the misery now ! ’ ” 
His wistful young face shone: above the dis- 
tant river, the sunlight — slanting — seemed to 
form a saffron ladder, a shipyard ladder — by 
which a resolute climber, beginning at a bottom 
notch — low down as the green keel of a yellow 


THE BEAR’S DEN 


115 


ship-skeleton — might mount, inch by inch, tak- 
ing some first crude steps toward the fulfilment of 
his architect’s dream — mastering the rudiments 
of a basic knowledge of vessels! 


CHAPTER VIII 
jumping” a bunk 


I T was an entirely “ played-out ” boy, going 
blindly ahead with the gait of a sleep- 
walker, who stumbled up a bank to one side 
of the causeway, and out on the Essex Main 
Street, more than an hour later ! 

Oakley had rested for a short time on the edge 
of the woods, whence he gained his wonder- 
ful, sun-enameled view of river and shipyards, 
had eaten his crackers and bananas, washed 
down by a lapping draught of brook-water — • 
then, limped ahead again, asking his way of the 
busy haymaker, saving his salt hay. 

“ You keep straight on over the salt-marshes 
an’ you’ll land in Essex ! ” directed the latter. 
“ You’ll have to cross the river, though, before 
you strike the town — this side the causeway. 
The tide’s dead out ; you can wade across ; ’twon’t 
come higher than your knees.” 

So the boy had gone down into the baptismal 
waters of his new life, as it were, weary feet 
stumbling amid rank “ black ” grass on the brink 
116 


“ JUMPING ” A BUNK 


m 


— into the river which had baptized all the fish- 
ing vessels he had ever seen. 

Long before he reached it, his radiant bird’s- 
eye view of the shipyards had faded and changed. 
As he drew nearer — though, yet a mile-and-half 
off — there emerged into prominence one detail 
of the picture, on which he kept his gaze riveted, 
like a beacon, till twilight fell. 

It was a strange item : it looked like a pair of 
enormous yellow horns against the blue of the 
rrver, as if some gigantic prehistoric animal were 
crouched there! 

“ Those are the first two frames of a vessel, I 
suppose — just set up! ” floated vaguely through 
the boy’s dazed brain; he kept his eyes on the 
mammoth horns — quarter frames of a vessel, 
yet in the embryo — until dusk enwrapped them. 

He got another view of them as, the river 
forded, he stumbled on to the street, lit only by 
one lamp — a full-blown, cloudless moon ! She 
was “ coming to the party ” to-night in pearly 
pomp, wrapped in no fog-blanket, as on that 
eventful evening, over at Candlegrass Beach ! 

She threw a radiant smile on the shipyards, 
floating above them, and, lo! the tips of those 
mammoth horns gleamed like the branching arms 
of some silver candelabra, outlined against a 
starry sky ! They seemed beckoning like a home- 


118 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


light, dimly seen in a dream, to the boy who 
stumbled across a moonlit causeway — the river 
purling beneath him — with such kinks in his 
limbs from five hours’ tramping, a head so 
“ turned round ” owing to his experiences in the 
woods, that houses all, to rear and front, seemed 
at odds with each other, facing in queer direc- 
tions ! 

He had a vague idea that he ought to stop 
some pedestrian on the dusky street, and inquire 
the way to a hotel, or other shelter! He tried 
to do so. But his voice seemed “ turned round,” 
too, in a fog inside him; while it groped for an 
outlet the individual whom he would have ad- 
dressed brushed by! 

Mechanically he found his blistered feet turn- 
ing aside from hard causeway to soft shavings of 
the open shipyard, gravitating to those silver- 
tipped horns, which, for the past hour, had led 
him like a beacon across the salt-marshes ! They 
beckoned still, as in a dream. 

“ How soft they feel — the shavings! ” It 
seemed to be the cooing river breeze which whis- 
pered the thought, not his cloudy brain. “ Guess, 
I’ll stretch on them for a while. Perhaps, my 
head will feel clearer, then I can hunt up some 
place, to turn in — spend the night — it’s early, 
yet.” 


“ JUMPING ” A BUNK 


119 


Still he did not immediately lie down, not 
even on reaching a nice little nest, a matted gully 
directly beneath the silvered horns — the branch- 
ing candelabra — with the moon sailing, a pen- 
dant globe, between them! 

She flooded the narrow gully until it shone 
like a cosy white lair, protected by a partial 
“ lean-to ” consisting of some lengthy, dark ob- 
ject, slanting on one side — green keel of the 
skeleton vessel — and by a proj ecting plank of 
the ship-carpenters’ movable platform, propped 
by low staging! 

Here, during the past day, shipwrights had 
worked at setting up the two first quarter frames 
— naked ribs — of the new vessel, radiating out 
on either side of the backbone keel ! Some twelve 
feet off, at the foot of the gully, struggled up a 
crude, yellow stern-post; the whole raw structure 
looking, at this stage of the building game, like 
some huge antediluvian animal, reposing on its 
backbone, “ kicking up its heels at the moon ! ” 

“ A vessel in its first stages is surely a queer — 
scarecrow ! ” Again, it seemed to be the river- 
breeze which cooed this comment into Oakley’s 
drowsy ears, as he glanced off from silvered gully 
away over the dusky yard, where were other gro- 
tesque skeletons of vessels in frame, with all 
their half-hundred — or thereabout — branching 


120 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ribs in place, the moon playing bo-peep between 
them ! 

There were other shapes, dark and solid, amid 
a forest of staging — the planked broadsides of 
half-finished hulls! 

Beyond them, something else caught the boy’s 
dazed eye : just the silvered rim of a snowy nest, 
slightly heeled over towards him, the white gleam 
losing itself in a black line slanting right down 
to glinting mud of the river’s bed, now deserted 
by the “ dead-low ” tide. 

“ It — it’s the bow of a finished * boat ! ’ 
They’re probably going to launch her — to-mor- 
row ! ” Again the river was whispering to him, 
but it seemed as if his dreaming brain were wak- 
ing up, answering in a manner a trifle more 
lively ! 

He glanced down at the little gully again, lit- 
tered with carpenters’ tools oxidized by the sil- 
ver light: sleeping augers, double-handled saws, 
hammer and adze — lying restfully about — 
dreaming, it seemed, of work to be done on the 
morrow! Gigantic set screws, like long-billed, 
slim-bodied birds — marsh cranes — roosted on 
two-part sections of other amidship frames which 
they were holding together, scattered over the 
grey platform. 


44 JUMPING ” A BUNK 


121 


It all seemed peaceful enough; a lovely rest- 
ing place. But under the spell of the fresh river- 
breeze combing the hair over his feverish fore- 
head with cool fingers, Oakley’s “ turned round ” 
senses were swinging back towards their proper 
outlook again. 

“ If I were to lie down there, I’d probably 
fall asleep an’ forget to wake up; I’d be ’most 
petrified, by morning — it’s blowing up cool 
from the river now ! ” he drowsily murmured. 

Again his feet seemed to take his dreaming will 
in charge, and the latter followed them! Those 
blistered feet simply refused to quit the soft rug 
of curly shavings for more tramping on cause- 
way and street; they bore him, instead, toward 
the gleaming rim of that lofty, silvered nest, 
pendant in air — as it were — above the oxidized 
mud. 

Oak found himself standing in a few minutes 
beneath the slanting broadside of a finished hull, 
which, in the silver twilight, had a velvety black- 
ness — marking it out from the raw nakedness 
of neighboring shapes ! It was “ heeled over ” 
slightly — invitingly — towards him, so that he 
caught a fuller glimpse of the rich white lining 
of the bow-nest — cradling a radiant pool of 
moonbeams I 


122 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


The boy brushed against something : a sloping 
gangway up to the vessel’s rail, obligingly left in 
place by departing shipwrights. 

“ If she’s all ready to be launched to-morrow 
or next day, one — one might drop down into 
her fo’c’s’le — or cabin — rest for a while under 
cover: ’twouldn’t do her new paint — or anybody 
— any harm ! ” The boy’s feet were staggering 
up the gang-plank. Pungent fragrance of newly- 
dried paint in the open-air — emerging from the 
dull, pervasive odor of “ green stock,” chiefly raw 
oak and maple, of which vessels were built — 
pleasantly tickled his nostrils. “ One hour’s 
sleep — •” he weakly yearned — “ just one — and 
I’d be right as a trivet, able to look up a hotel; 
r-ready to fight — wildcats ! ” 

He stood now on the milky deck, which gaped 
here and there, showing the yawning mouth of a 
dark shaft, forecastle or cabin hatchway, and the 
silver-rimmed, circular blackness of a mast- 
hole, from which, by-and-by, would soar a 
kingly spar — mainmast or foremast ! 

With the snowy windlass looming, like a di- 
minutive windmill up for’ard, with a whiff of 
fresh varnish wafted from the wheel — taken for 
granted, away aft — the radiant new hull, half 
her glories hidden, seemed keeping vigil, as a 
young soldier of old about to receive knighthood 


a JUMPING ”• A BUNK 


123 


on the morrow under the consecrating whiteness 
of the moon. 

Something rose in the boy’s throat ; as he stood 
amidships, gazing fore and aft, and then over 
the rail at that oxidized river-mud which a high 
tide must replace, ere the young vessel, liber- 
ated, could dart off the greased launching ways 
on which she already rested — slightly heeled 
over on her side — and meet the kiss of the river, 
combing, to greet her! 

“ She’s a bird ! A handsome — boat! ” drow- 
sily articulated the solitary, moon-trapped being 
on her deck, who had loved a boat, with all his 
boyish heart, since the days of his first toy- 
schooner which performed draggled feats of navi- 
gation on a sea-pool ! What — what will this 
deck look like, after her first hard trip, an old 
shed-floor — I expect ! 

“Well! no fear of my scratching her smart 
paint — even if I should forget to wake — sleep 
on till morning,” stepping forward and stooping 
to the yawning mouth of one black shaft, to 
make sure that the fo’c’s’le companionway was in 
place. 

He felt the top-rungs of its steep, brassbound 
ladder: “ No fear of my scraping the ‘ finish ’ of 
a new bunk ! I — I’d as soon throw burrs at a 
girl in — her graduating dress,” with a gleeful 


124 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


gurgle of laughter, as he backed down Into cav- 
ern-like darkness. “ Here goes, for taking off 
one’s shoes — so’s not to damage her ! 

“ Gee — whitaker ! this is a more corking ad- 
venture, even, than camping out in the Bear’s 
Den : do-doing the — stowaway act — on an un- 
launched vessel ! Oak was groping for the near- 
est bare bunk, spreading his overcoat under him 
on its plank bed of hard ash finished in black wal- 
nut — curling up gleefully, like a tired child in 
fresh-smelling crib. 

He winked up at the moon through gaping 
hatchway: “My stars! this is bully,” he in- 
formed her. “ Here’s a lark : ‘ jumping ’ a bunk 
on a vessel that hasn’t yet smelled water, instead 
of a berth on Uncle Ceeph’s, heading for Johnny 
Campbell’s Spot! Perhaps, I’ll make a trip on 
this one yet. Who knows ? Stranger things 
have — 

“ Great Caesar ! ” opening his eyes wide, for a 
second, on the edge of twilight land, “ would — 
wouldn’t it be odd, if this should turn out to be — 
Damon & Gage’s — yard: I — I might find my- 
self in Queer Street,” dreamily. “ Wonder 
whether I’ll run across ‘ Rag ’ an’ ‘ Greengage ’ 
in Essex ? I’ll wake in an hour — hunt up a 
ho-—” 


“ JUMPING ” A BUNK 


125 


Ere ever the word was finished the dead-low 
tide was not slumbering more insensibly than a 
jaded stowaway, in his “jumped” crib, on the 
maiden vessel. 


CHAPTER IX 


A DECK STAGE 

I N the small hours of morning the tide had 
waxed to high water again, covering the 
silvered mud, and a long, heavy plank run- 
ning out upon it, supporting the blocked-up 
launching ways on which the new “ boat ” rested ! 
Once more, it was at low ebb when a startled 
stowaway awoke — having slept, not one hour 
only — but nearer to ten. 

“ Great — Great Caesar ! where — am I ? 
Huh ! ” he gasped, with a curling shiver ; the little 
streamer of morning breeze fluttering down the 
open gangway, felt cold as a waft of ether. 

“ My stars ! she can’t be launched — already ! 
N -never! ” he muttered, aghast, blinking at his 
novel surroundings in the triangular forecastle, 
then opening wide eyes as it all rushed back on 
him, with the clearness of a landscape illuminated 
by lightning flash: how he came to “jump” a 
bare bunk in a vessel which had not yet 
“ smelled ” water. 

“I — I’m in a sweet 4 pickle ’ now ! There’s 
126 * 


A DECK STAGE 


127 

some one moving round above — on her new 
deck ! They’ll take me — for a hobo ; want to 
4 run me in ’ perhaps ! How am I ever to ex- 
plain—” 

The boy’s glance fluttered round the bare, shiny 
forecastle — illumined by early morning sunshine, 
streaming down the open companionway from 
three-cornered table to freshly varnished bunks, 
two and two, upper and lower — nine in all — 
with one, away for’ard, in the angle of the fore- 
peak. 

The walnut-fronted cribs, soon to be occupied 
by nine stalwart fishermen, could offer no sug- 
gestion as to how he was to declare his presence 
aboard and explain it, the difficulties of which 
— sleep-fuddled, chilled and hungry — he blink- 
ingly exaggerated. 

Appealingly, he gazed at the stout Samson post, 
some twelve feet forward of the companion lad- 
der, running up from the keelson through fore- 
castle and new deck having “ a racket on ” the 
white windlass above : that wooden Samson was 
barren of suggestion, too! 

“ Hooky ! I’m in another mess — worse than 
yesterday’s ; deep — deep ‘ in the misery ’ again 
with both feet ! ” gurgled Oak, between gaping 
shivers, with a smothered tinkle of laughter 
at his stowaway plight l For if he had awakened 


128 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


stiff and chilly on his ash-plank bed — not quite 
ready to tackle wild cats, or angry ship-carpen- 
ters — yet, ten hours’ sleep in the fresh-air cur- 
rent playing through open hatchway, on a night 
fairly warm for October, had given him a clear 
brain — when sleep’s fog should scale from it — 
and rebounding spirits ! 

“ Land o’ Goshen ! ” he shivered on, loath to 
move, “ there — there are two fellows stamping 
round overhead, now — members of the shipyard 
gang, I suppose, doing some finishing chores on 
the new deck! Must be about seven o’clock! 
Gee whiz! I slept like old Van Winkle; if the 
yard foreman should be buzzing around early, I 
may come in for it — hot. Suppose they should 
try to fling me over her rail? If — if, only, 
there was a porthole on a little fisherman ! 
There’s nowhere to hide — except in a new 
locker,” playing with his stowaway fears. 

The sight of those barren lockers grinning at 
him across a shiny “ bulkhead ” of table, as he 
twisted his neck, to look past the companion lad- 
der, drew forth a “ truly ” groan. 

“ Jupiter ! to think there’s no pie in ’em ! ” 
silently wailed the stowaway. “ It — it’s a 
slick foc’s’le. But it doesn’t look natural, with- 
out a huddle of striped bolsters, yellow oilskins, 
an’ rubber boots, around! Jim’ny! those fel- 


A DECK STAGE 


129 


lows — overhead — are beginning to carry on 
now — singing an’ whistling. I — I’d face all 
that’s coming to me,” mournfully, “ for about 
five pieces of the pie that the cook aboard Uncle 
Ceeph’s vessel used to make an’ fill me up with — 
when I was a kid of eleven! Guess I’d better 
heave anchor: I’ll only be getting in deeper — 
by delay ! ” 

He picked up his boots, crept, cat-like, out of 
the hard bunk, gusty shivers blending with starv- 
ing memories of pie, cracker and biscuit-filled 
lockers on his Uncle Cephas’s vessel, in the old 
time, before estrangement, when he went aboard 
with the latter, the day after he got back from a 
trip. 

“ I’d face the music better, if only I had a 
— 4 mug-up ! ’ ” kept on the restless inner wail, 
as a boy shook his fist at the “ whited sepulchre ” 
of those empty lockers, feeling that it was dead- 
low tide, within — as without — he, having 
eaten nothing, save a handful of crackers and 
three bananas, since noon dinner, yesterday, at 
Beverly. 

“ I must face it — the music : I must get — 
some breakfast ! ” He stole to the foot of the 
companionway, to be halted by a chorus of 
matin music which made him catch his breath in 
a whistle — and stand listening ! 


130 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Marsh birds were chirping, tree birds singing, 
and above them carolled a human tenor, high, 
gaily sweet, right over his head, on the new deck : 

“ Bonhomme, Bonhom-me ! 

Que sais-tu done fai-re? 

Sais-tu bien jouer 
Du genoux par ter-re? 

Ter-re, ter-re, ter-re, 

Du g’noux par ter-re.” 

The singer was parading near the forecastle 
hatchway, pouring a molasses-like trickle of hot 
“ pitch ” through the long slim beak of a tin tar- 
pot into the seams between snowy planks of 
the new deck, to plug them against any creep- 
ing in of sea-water ! His “ Bonhomme, Bon- 
homme! ” and “ Ter-re! ter-re! ter-re! ” were so 
distinct and catchy — with the rest of the merry 
challenge, too — that Oakley translating out of 
the wealth of his high school French, felt himself 
calling on the “ Good-man ! Good-man ! ” to state 
what he could do: whether he could play — 
boy-fashion — “ on his knees on mother earth.” 

At the end, he might have clapped if he hadn’t 
been so hungry — and half-scared ! Some one 
else did the applauding, saved him the trouble: 

“ Cut loose on it — Frenchy ! Cut loose on it ! 
Let’s have him all over again! ‘Bong homme! 
Bonghommt ! ” screeched a voice from away back 


A DECK STAGE 


131 


on the new deck — not musical, but fairly exud- 
ing fun! 

Oak began to pluck up courage; this light- 
hearted pair, “ merry as grigs,” weren’t likely 
to turn very “ grouty ” and heave him over the 
vessel’s bow-rail into the yard, seventeen feet be- 
low, when he was caught trespassing! He had 
only to spring out on them, as if the new fore- 
castle had coughed him up — and tell his story ! 

He felt a sudden absurd inspiration to turn the 
whole affair into a joke by taking part in the 
morning concert — to prepare them for the shock 
of his appearance on the deck-stage, by humming 
a strain of the “ Chinese Emp’ror’s Wedding! ” 

His lips were, actually, parting on “ Hanki- 
panki-chanki-Wun ! ” when Frenchy forestalled 
that classic, by “ breaking forth in a new place — ” 
in a mixed, and yet livelier, number — while 
flourishing the long-billed tar-pot : 

“Ah! Ah! Ah! 

Du g’noux par ter-re ! 

Ah! Jean Ba’tiste, p’urquoi, 

Ah! Pean Ba’tis’e, p’urquoi, 

Ah ! Jean Ba’ti’se, p’ur-r-quoi-oi, you gr-rease, 

Mine leetle dog’s nose — wi’ tar-r-r?” 

“A-cause, hee’s got c’tar-r-rh, 

A-cause, hee’s got c-tar-r-rh, 

An’ dat’s de reason it/ y-y — I gr-rease — 

You’ leetl’ dog’s nose — wi’ tar-r!” 


132 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Your little dog’s nose with tar-r,” echoed 
the voice, back aft, bawling a refrain — with bois- 
terous laugh — while the songbird, for’ard, trick- 
led hot pitch, through the long tin beak into white 
seams. “ Drive her, Frenchy! Drive her!” 
added the listener, on deck, applauding nonsensi- 
cally : “ Grease him good, to-day — your little 
dog — so that he’ll go off well, an’ won’t hoo- 
doo the new vessel ! ” 

And Oak, shuffling cold feet at the foot of the 
shiny, forecastle ladder, found himself irresistibly 
chanting the inquiry, under his breath : “ Ah ! 
Jean Ba’ti’se, pourquoi you grease — ?” with 
strangled laughter. 

Frenchy “ pitched ” another seam — as Noah 
of old pitched the ark, “ within and without — ” 
then, lilted on triumphantly in his lyric tenor : 

“Oh! Jean Ba’tis’e, c’est bon, 

Oh! Jean Ba’tis’e, c’est bon, 

Oh! Jean Ba’ti’se — c’est bon-n — you gr-r-rease 
Mine leetl’ dog’s nose, wi’ tar-r ! ” 

“ C’est bon — you gr-rease ! ” echoed Oakley, 
softly again, shuffling an accompaniment with his 
stockinged feet — hunger, cold, laughter, all, 
battling within him! Suddenly, he stubbed a 
numb toe against the bottom rung of the com- 
panion ladder, and recoiled, grunting! 


A DECK STAGE 


133 


Frenchy — simultaneously — swung aloft the 
long-billed tar-pot, pricking up his ears in quiver- 
ing excitement : 

“ Tonnerre ! ” he barked softly. “ Tonnerre 
d ’ nom !” in an indistinct rumble. “ I’ll bet me 
you’ head, dere’s som’ rat down dere in new 
fo’c’s’l : sheepyar’ rat ! I’ll bet me — ” Frenchy’s 
“ I ” had an “ Ah ” sound. 

“ ‘ Ship-yard — ’ gran’mother ! ” contemptu- 
ously bawled the second carpenter. “ There’s no 
rat aboard this one, yet! Why in thunder don’t 
you bet your own head, Frenchy? ” 

“ I’ll no bet you’s ! ” retorted the singer — in 
like hot disdain — shuffling toward the yawning 
hatchway. “ ’Cause nobodee wan’t heem, ’cept 
play ping-pong! Mo’bleu! dere is som’ rat — 
sheep-yar’ rat 

He crouched, peering down the sunlit shaft — 
penetrating shadowy recesses of the fresh fore- 
castle. His eyes met Oakley’s, with the shock 
of a foggy collision ! 

The Frenchman shot upright, as if stung: 
“ Tonnerre d’ nom ! ” he rumbled, once more, in a 
veritable, subdued thunder-clap. “ Sapre ! heem 
no rat. Heem man, boy, ho-hobo — wa’t you 
call heem — sone of a gunne — down dere, in 
new vess’ ! ” 


134 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Frenchy’s coat-tails wagged like the tail-feath- 
ers of a fighting sparrow ! He gesticulated fran- 
tically with the tar-pot ! 

“ Comment? You’ll sleep in new fo’c’sT?” 
he challenged, crouching again, to peer down the 
hatchway. “ Com’ — com’ up — yous sone of 
a gunne! Boss fin’ yous, ciel! he’ll no be much 
tickle’.” 

“ Name o’ thunder ! ” grumbled Oakley, trans- 
lating Frenchy’s covert ejaculation, “ I’m not 
much tickle, myself — now.” 

He sat down on a lower step to put on his 
boots, but was headed off from performing this 
ceremony by another shout which came ringing 
down the companionway in that strong young 
voice of the other ship-carpenter who had echoed 
“ Bonghomme ! Bonghomme ! ” coming in with a 
refrain to his companion’s songs. 

At sound of Frenchy’s excited cries, he hustled 
forward “ on the jump and run,” and now peered 
down the sunlit shaft, too ! 

“ Great Scott! a tramp? ” he ejaculated. “ A 
tramp roosting below in the new fo’c’s’le? Sure 
enough — it is ! Come out here, you hobo ! 
If you’re not atop of that ladder, while a 
fellow would count three, I’ll help you up it!” 
tartly. 

Poor Oak — blankly undesirous of such help — 


A DECK STAGE 


1S5 


with a swift feeling that once out on deck, in 
morning sunshine, his good clothes and appear- 
ance, generally, would pave the way for ex- 
planation, picked up muddy old “ grip,” and over- 
coat, tucked still more miry boots under his arm 
— ascended into daylight, without more ado ! 

It was with a much worse qualm than he had 
yet felt, however, that in the act of stepping out 
on the bridal deck, he heard a shout unlike that 
of the merry ship-carpenter’s — clear, masterly — 
ringing up from the shipyard, below. 

“ What ? A tramp roosting aboard the new 
vessel ? ” it cried indignantly. “ I’ve a great 
mind to have him locked up as a vagrant ! ” 

“Take him by the collar, ‘Mitch!’” to the 
young Yankee shipwright ; “ fling him down over 
her rail! We don’t want any hobos — making 
this yard their stamping-ground. We’d soon 
find ourselves shy on lumber and tools. And 
damaging all the ‘ finish ’ of the new fo’c’s’le — 
too ! ” in mounting wrath. 

Oakley, shooting out a sidelong, trapped glance, 
saw a tall man, bareheaded, dignified, standing 
out from the vessel’s broadside, on a mound of 
yard-shavings. 

“ By gracious ! I’m in for it, now ; he’s one of 
the owners of this yard.” The thought went 
whistling through Oak’s brain, while that tall dig- 


136 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


nitary below, looking up, couldn’t see more of 
the trespasser, over the vessel’s white rail than 
a not over-clean face, a short, tousled crop of red- 
dish-brown hair, a pair of shoulders which might 
almost belong to a man, with crumpled collar 
under the intruder’s ear! 

“ Chuck him over the rail, Mitch ; teach him 
a lesson — he’ll land, fairly soft, on the shav- 
ings ! ” commanded the authority below to 
“ Mitch,” who was somewhat of a youthful giant. 

It may have been only a scaring threat, but 
Mitch took a step forward ! 

With that, the red blood of the Roses flamed 
in Oakley’s chilled veins! 

“ ‘ Chuck me over the rail ? ’ ” he whizzed out. 
“ Well! I guess, I’ve got something to say about 
that” setting down boots and other property 
on the for’ard deck, to allow free swing to a pair 
of arms. “ You might give a fellow time to 
speak — explain!” hotly. “You’re not coming 
for me, two together ? ” he shot a glance at plump 
Frenchy, doing a war-dance on his heels — then, 
gazed squarely into the eyes of the young Ameri- 
can workman, with a look which carried an ap- 
peal to the latter to recognize its “ squareness ! ” 

And “ Mitch ” did ! He fell back a step, run- 
ning his glance scrutinizingly over the intruder’s 
figure, down to a huddle of “ dandy ” overcoat on 


A DECK STAGE 


137 


the white deck, starred with the mud of Big 
Swamp ! 

“Lordy! you’re no tramp,” he ejaculated, 
breaking into free laughter. “ Don’t look as if 
there was any deadwood about you, though 
you’re carrying round a peck of Essex real es- 
tate ! ” chucklingly pointing to the muddy em- 
broidery on a trouser-leg, “ you’re a sight, but 
no hobo : more like a high school fellow, camp- 
ing out for a lark! Why did you do it, jump a 
bunk on an unlaunched vessel ? ” Mitch’s fra- 
ternal grin invited confidence. 

“ Got turned round in the woods off there yes- 
terday ! Came to Essex, to look up my uncle — ” 
Oakley was beginning, with a return grin, when 
he reeled, as if struck by a kicking gun — at the 
sound of an entirely new voice, in the yard be- 
low ! 

“ Well ! Mr. Damon, I got round, here, nearly 
as early as any of you; couldn’t wait to have 
a look at the new boat, the Richard A. Gage! 
What — what’s all this fuss about? ” The new- 
comer rose on tiptoe, in order to see over the 
glistening rail. “ A tramp roosting aboard her ? 
A tr-tramp? ” The youthful voice rose to a 
shriek, resembling one which Oakley had heard 
before. “‘Hobo?’ Well I guess not! Why! 
Why ! it is — I know it is” excitedly. “ It’s 


138 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Oak — Oak — Oakley, who — who made the 
touchdown, on the — trestle, sa-saved Dickey 
from being run over! Dickey wouldn’t be atop 
o’ the earth to see the vessel named after him 
launched, but for — ” 

The voice collapsed, breathlessly, in a sort of 
triumphal sob: the tall man on his mound of 
shavings did not look foolish, but rather as if 
a new species of fire-cracker were exploding in 
the shipyard! 

“Where did you pop from?” cried “ Green- 
gage,” standing off from under the vessel’s side 
to where he could get a clearer view of the white 
deck, addressing the central disheveled figure 
thereon, at whom Mitch was smiling now broadly, 
and Frenchy swinging his tarpot, as if it exhaled 
incense. 

“ ‘ Where did he pop from ? ’ He slept in the 
new foc’s’le, to all appearance,” replied the tall 
yard-owner, ere Oakley could edge in an an- 
swer. 

“ An’ what if he did ? I guess, nobody has a 
better right to bunk, fore or aft, aboard the 
Richard A. Gage , — that’s what Uncle Dick 
would say, if he was here — than the fellow who 
came within a squeak of getting all smashed up 
himself, to save the child she’s named after? 
Don’t — don’t you remember, Mr. Damon, I told 



“ It’s Oakley ! ” 


Page 137. 




























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A DECK STAGE 


139 


you all about it : that foggy trestle over at Candle- 
grass Beach? I showed you the paragraph in 
the ‘ Cape Times ’ ? ” 

“ Yes! headed: ‘ He Is a Hero/ I guess, you 
wrote most of that yourself, Gagie ! ” laughed 
the tall dignitary. “Well, Oak!” shouting up 
unceremoniously, “ if you’re that sort of fel- 
low — ” with a humorous smile — “I rather 
think you can strut down that gangway, without 
being helped! I guess, you had reasons; come 
along down an’ let’s hear them, boy ! ” 

But Greengage was meanwhile flying up the 
gang-plank, vaulting over the new rail, with the 
colored stripe defining it on the outside, like a 
bright blue ribbon drawn taut round the ves- 
sel’s “ run ! ” Another second, and the Latin 
School boy was boisterously wagging Oakley’s 
elbow ! 

“ Where did you pop from ? ” he reiterated. 
“ I was just going to wiggle my pen ’cross paper 
in another letter to you — and here you blow 
down in Essex, like — like a jolly old windfall ! ” 

“ Bring him down ; let him tell his story here 
in the yard ; I’d like to hear it ! ” called up Mr. 
Damon, and the boys tumbled arm in arm down 
the staging gang-plank — Oak having squatted 
first for a minute on the white deck, to don mud- 
caked boots, and resume his property. 


no 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“I — I came down here to the neighborhood of 
Essex yesterday, sir,” he began, addressing the 
shipyard’s owner with what strength remained 
to him. “ I wanted to look up my uncle, Capt’n 
Cephas Dart; I found he had sold his farm and 
gone fishing again; then — then — ” there was a 
recurring dizziness in the boy’s head, now from 
his unusual fast — “ I struck out for Essex 
through the woods, got turned round, was — was 
up against the — Big Swamp an’ Bear’s Den ! I 
found my way at last ’cross the marshes into the 
town, so 4 turned round ’ in my head, I guess, 
that I hardly knew what I was doing; thought 
I’d lie down here an’ rest a while — hunt up an 
hotel later; I slept till morning,” sheepishly. 

The shipbuilder’s eyes were diving into the 
speaker’s, down through him, coming out through 
his boots as Oakley felt: “No! I guess, there’s 
no dead wood about you, Oak — ” he began. 

“ You’d know there wasn’t, if you saw him 
jump! ” struck in Greengage. 

“ But I should say you were a pretty hollow 
sapling, at present,” chuckled the tall man, replac- 
ing the pipe he had removed. “ Take him over to 
the hotel, Gage : ask them to put up the best meal 
the house affords for the two of you, an’ tell ’em 
it’s ‘ on me,’ I’ll settle! What! you’ve had your 
breakfast, eh? Well, if you can’t get away with 


A DECK STAGE 


141 


a second edition, for company’s sake — you’re 
no schoolboy! Be off with you, both! Better 
come back to the yard, a little before high water, 
and see us launch the new boat ! ” he added to 
Oakley, as the latter edged gratefully off. 
“ She’ll be an able vessel — the Richard A. 
Gage! ” 

“ I guess she’s the slickest bit of wood that’s 
been launched from this yard, for many a day ! ” 
flung down Mitch, over her tilted bow-rail. 

Oakley shot a glance upward : there was her 
name in sun-edged letters girdling the saucily 
tilted bow ! 

“ Great Caesar ! if she takes after her namesake, 
she must be 4 slick ! ’ ” gurgled the ex-stowaway, 
joyous in the anticipation of breakfast. “ I’d like 
to see her launched, all right, sir,” he added, ad- 
dressing the shipbuilder. “ But I ought to take 
the next car to Gloucester — to catch my uncle ; 
thought I might make the trip to Green Bank 
with him — as — as passenger — or ‘ hired nub- 
bins!’” 

“Oh! if he didn’t sail yesterday — Friday — 
he won’t till Monday,” returned Mr. Damon; “ he 
couldn’t get his crew together on a Saturday, you 
know.” 

“ Sure’ — I forgot that ! ” murmured Oak, as 
Greengage dragged him off. 


142 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ I was 4 deep in the misery you pulled me 
out ! ” he muttered, gratefully, squeezing the 
Latin School boy’s arm. 

“ Pshaw ! you’d have come off, all right, any- 
how ! ” breezed the latter. “ Mr. Damon may 
have threatened to ‘ eat you up,’ but ’twas only 
bluff; he’s fine!” 

“ I guess, he is ! ” seconded the pseudo stow- 
away: through his dizzy brain was beating a 
giddy-glad repetition of Frenchy’s song: “ Oh, 
Jean Ba’tiste, c’ est bon! Oh, Jean Ba’tiste c’est 
bon-n ! ” At this moment — with Greengage’s 
arm in his — the little old world seemed, indeed, 
to him very “ good ” and, likewise, all that dwell 
upon it! 


CHAPTER X 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 

T HAT was a memorable breakfast to both 
boys — Greengage pitched into the sec- 
ond edition with gusto — they recalled 
the meal, afterwards, as a sort of floating island 
in a lake of hospitality and kindness! 

“ Feeling better, now, Oakie?” asked the 
Latin School boy, when sundry relays had been 
made away with. 

“Well! I feel more put together,” came the 
complacent answer; the victim of Big Swamp 
had devoted five minutes to a hurried wash while 
breakfast was in preparation. “ Three cups of 
coffee, cereal, steak, baked ’taties,” he enumerated 
happily : “ tide’s creeping up, I guess, ’twill be 
high-water now; I’ve got to knock off! You're 
not feeling better,” challenging his companion, 
“ you’re growing visibly.” 

“Well! let’s get out on the piazza, and talk 
things over, since I saw you last — and first!” 
suggested the fourth-class boy from that distant 
143 


144 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ stamping-ground ” of great men, the Boston 
Latin School. 

And while the breezy October morning wore 
on, they sat on the hotel piazza, lolling and rock- 
ing, exchanging confidences to the music of a 
softened band-concert of ship-carpenter’s tools, 
buzzing in a neighboring shipyard. Hammer 
and adze, band-saw and whistling auger, each 
coming in on its indistinct part in the buoyant 
march of a vessel’s construction, from lowly 
green keel, to snowy windlass and new wheel on 
her otherwise unfurnished deck! At this point 
— with the launching of the bare hull — the 
march would break off here, to be taken up and 
completed elsewhere. 

“ Summer visitors — most of them — think it 
odd to see fishing vessels built in open yards — 
by the roadside, as it were ! ” mused Greengage, 
gazing off at the yellow fleet of unpainted em- 
bryos — gaunt skeletons of vessels in frame, 
counting their fifty, or more, uncovered ribs. 

Others, with but one or two of those branch- 
ing frames set up, interspersed with plumper 
shapes of vessels in process of skimming, or 
planking, and, here or there, a glossy, finished 
hull in her new coat of paint — perched aloft, like 
some sleek, dark bird, alighting ! 

“ I guess, those are the sort of people who 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


145 


imagine that a schooner is launched a schooner — 
spars all in, an’ a cloud of duck on her ! ” 
scoffed Oakley, in turn, pitiful of the big world’s 
ignorance. “ By the way ! how’s ‘ Rag ? ’ ” he 
gasped. “ Did the bear ‘ bust its squeaker ’ when 
it kept braying away that foggy evening, after 
we scrambled out of the tide, over at the beach ? ” 

A cloud hovered over the boy’s smile ; he could 
not recall foggy trestle and marsh flood, with- 
out remembering the solemn event of a succeeding 
night! Grief was not yet so far away, but that 
he could put out his hand and feel it near ! But 
he was recovering from its first sting much more 
quickly, following new and — since yesterday — 
adventurous paths, than if he had kept on in the 
familiar high school routine! 

Oakley was learning, all unconsciously, that 
compensations may be found swimming above 
water in the greyest mist, like the fogged fish, 
with whose legend he had imposed on Dickey’s 
“ overtime ” imagination : we have only got to 
“ take them by the tail.” 

Greengage, meanwhile, was eyeing his com- 
panion furtively: full of sympathy to the boyish 
quick, he struggled to translate some of it into 
words : 

“ It made me feel ‘ dumpy ’ for a week, when 
I heard what had happened to you — about 


146 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


your being left, all alone ! ” he murmured awk- 
wardly ; getting off what may have been a 44 bad 
fumble,” but it warmed Oak through and 
through, as no words of sympathy had yet done. 

“ What are you going to do, now ? ” went on 
young Green. I imagined you were back in 
high school, 4 plugging ’ away to win a Tech 
scholarship, expecting to graduate from the great 
M. I. T. as a full-blown naval architect — with 
some big degree ! The car conductor told us all 
about you, that evening, before he dropped us 
at the Neck — gave your whole history away to 
me — and to the man-passenger who boomed 
your ‘ three-bagger ? ’ Have you given it all up 
— 4 chucked ’ study? ” 

44 Had to ! ” ground out Oak grimly. 44 I 
struck a cooler! ” 

“ A * cooler ? ’ ” 

4 4 An iceberg — in fisherman’s jargon ! ” The 
skipper’s son laughed, a little dismally. 44 It 
routed me off my course! But — ” breathlessly 
— 44 1 guess, it’s up to me to shape another — to 
get there, somehow ! ” with a sigh to the memory 
of that lost course: to the dream of graduating 
from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 
equipped with a knapsack-full of knowledge, 
crested with the degree of Bachelor of Science ! 

44 But — but I’m not going to let the old 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


147 


Dumps get a second innings — not, if I know 
myself ! ” he gritted out : in order to fight off 
those gloomy invaders, he proceeded to give his 
new friend some sketch of the skeleton plans with 
which he was trying to fill the blank left by old 
ones. 

Greengage listened breezily. “ It's too bad 
that you got such a set-back, old man ! ” he 
sympathized, boyishly, in snatches. “ But you'll 
make it up ; you’ll make it up on the home-stretch ! 
You’ll make another ‘ three-base hit’ some day; 
see if you don’t ! ” 

“Well! a fellow can only do his little best,” 
laughed back his companion. “ Anyhow — ” in 
a sudden gust of shy confidence — “ anyhow, I’ve 
made up my mind not to quit till I get the ‘ kites 
on her ’ again,” seeing himself still under the fig- 
ure of the vessel, ambition as symbolized by the 
hustling topsails. “ Not till I’ve designed some 
little windjammer that will be launched and sail 
to beat the band ! ” flushing and tingling all over, 
at “ blowing off ” to another ear the secret hope 
which filled him. 

“If a fellow could only find work some- 
where that would give him a chance to learn 
about ‘ boats/ from the inside out ! ” he went 
on, finding it easier to open the discussion of 
one’s prospects in the third person, “ I was 


148 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


thinking of applying at the mould-loft, here — 
where a vessel is laid down, life-size, from the 
designer’s plan, where the full-sized moulds for 
her keel and frame timbers are made; one ought 
to pick up some knowledge of her construction — 
there ! ” musingly. 

The Latin School boy’s eyes snapped : “ The 

— the mould-shop, across the river?” he ejacu- 
lated. 44 Why — that’s the place of all others 
where I love to 4 loaf,’ and watch the mould- 
maker at work ! 4 Professor,’ I call him : what he 
doesn’t know about vessels an’ their 4 beginnings ’ 
you could 4 put in tea ! ’ ” vivaciously. 

“ I started in to build a little naphtha launch, 
to run on the river, here, during the early part 
of last summer’s vacation, before we went over 
to the beach ! ” Thus Greengage rattled on. 
44 4 Professor ’ helped me to make the forms for 
her — • showed me how to set ’em up, too. But 
I wasn’t cut out for an architect: I’m going to 
be a lawyer, going in for gab an’ logic ! ” fin- 
ished the boy whose interest in launch-building, 
had evidently 44 slumped.” 

44 One thing sure — you’ll hold up the 4 gab ’ 
end, Gagie, whatever becomes of the logic ! ” 
chaffed Oak. 

44 Get out ! Gur-r-r-rh ! ” A future ornament 
of the bar 44 chortled ” vindictively as he punched 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


149 


his companion’s ribs. “ I hardly think you’ll find 
work in the mould-shop, though ! ” he went on, 
sobering down. “ Professor doesn’t take on any 
assistants — prefers to run things, alone! But 
he’ll let you loaf, there, and ask questions — till 
the cows come home ! ” 

“ Unfortunately, it’s ‘ up to me ’ to do some- 
thing beside loafing, if I don’t get a chance to 
ship with Uncle Ceeph for Johnny Campbell’s 
Spot ! ” Oak fingered a lone five-dollar bill, in 
his pocket, glancing dejectedly across at an open 
shipyard. “ I suppose nobody wants a green 
ship-carpenter in Essex — ” he hazarded aloud — 
“ green as that keel, over there ! ” pointing with 
rueful chuckle to a verdant object reposing on its 
side, close to the ground, looking, rather, at this 
distance like a prostrate swath of vivid marsh 
grass. 

“ I’d get after Mr. Damon — or the foreman 
of our yard, if I were you ! ” returned Greengage, 
secretly resolving to “ pull strings,” himself. “ If 
my uncle were here, he’d give you a chance — I 
know he would — but he’s gone West, on a va- 
cation! Hasn’t had one before in ten years; 
doctor said his nerves were becoming numb 
as wooden tre’nails ! ” rattled out the youthful 
nephew. 

“ Well, I mightn’t want to hold down a 'job’ 


150 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


for more than five or six weeks,” suggested 
Oakley. “ Even, if Uncle Ceeph has sailed, he’ll 
be back again inside of that time — let’s hope, 
with a ‘ big trip ’ — perhaps, ready to volunteer to 
lend a fellow a glad ‘ hand out ’ ! ” laughingly. 
“ He’s bought a share in the vessel he’s gone in 
now — his skipper’s profits would be doubled — 
he might advance money, so that I could finish my 
high school course, anyhow, and let the Tech 
future, after that, take care of itself ! ” 

“ That would be bully ! ” cried Gage, encourag- 
ing the rainbow vision of a rich homing Viking, 
laden with choice fish-spoils, from ocean’s lucky 
Spots ! 

“ But, of course, I couldn’t take help from 
Uncle Ceeph,” Oak was soliloquizing, meanwhile, 
under quickened breath, “ unless he owns up that 
* Papa John’ was the straightest — whitest man 
the Lord ever let breathe — ” hot tears sprang to 
the boy’s eyes — “ incapable of lending that 
smoke-house fire a boost! Wish I could ever get 
hold of the rascal who — ” 

He broke off short in his musings, recalling 
“ Papa John’s ” statement that the miscreant who 
presumably started fiery mischief, had been 
drowned — leaving a son ! 

Gradually, as he sat there, facing the open 
building yards, with their medley of uncouth 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


151 


shapes, the fairy vision of “ his ship coming* 
home,” in the shape of a rich plunder-laden uncle 
— always provided that he should not be in time 
to sail with him — faded away from Oakley ! 

He began to brace himself once more, to carry 
on ambition’s fight “ on his own hook,” to see 
again that “ shipyard ladder,” by which one 
might work and climb in the direction of knowl- 
edge such as he desired, which had loomed be- 
fore his imagination, the evening before, at the 
edge of those sunset woods ! 

It was a twin-ladder, now, having parallel 
rungs, consisting of steps which might be taken 
toward a basic acquaintance with vessels in that 
mould-shop “ across the river — ” like a Paradise 
over Jordan — where one might loaf and ask 
questions “ till the cows come home ! ” And, 
with this, there took possession of him a scorch- 
ing impatience to behold the forthcoming ship- 
yard spectacle : the launching of that “ slick bit 
of wood ” the Richard A. Gage. 

“ I say ! isn’t it about time we were seeing about 
‘reserved seats for the show?’” he jested ex- 
citedly, strolling off the piazza, gazing away to- 
ward the shipyard where he had slept the night 
before. “’Twill be high water soon — won’t 
it?” 

“ Not for another hour, or so! ” returned the 


152 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


shipbuilder’s nephew calmly. “ I’ve got to trot 
off and fetch Dickey down, to see the vessel 
named after him ‘ go ’ ! My aunt won’t hear of 
his being on her deck, though; she’s afraid that 
either the boat or he might ‘ cut up rough ; ’ and 
‘ Rag ’ come up to grief — somehow ! Maybe, 
he is too young to hang onto a fiferail, when she 
‘ slides on her ear,’ ” laughingly ; “ and one 
can’t always be sure of ‘ hanging onto him ! 9 99 

“ I should say not ! ” chuckled Oakley, recall- 
ing Candlegrass Beach and trestle. “ If the Rich- 
ard A. Gage at all resembles the kid she’s named 
after I guess, wherever she is, ‘ there’ll be some- 
thing doing ! 9 99 

“ Won’t you come up to the house with me, 
Oak ? ” the schoolboy suggested. “ My aunt 
has been wanting to thank you ever since that 
evening — ” 

But the other backed away : “ No — no, thank 
you; not now,” he murmured: “ I — I’m not 
looking for any ‘ bo’quets ’ — wouldn’t know 
what to do with ’em ! ” grinning shyly. 

“Come off! You’re only playing the modest 
hero ; I’ll get her to ask you to dinner to-morrow. 
Well! I’ll meet you in the shipyard. So long! ” 
Gage scampered off. 

Half-an-hour later, while the blue tidal river, 
mounting, spreading, travelled slowly to meet its 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


153 


bride, two boys and a manikin sat on a low reef 
of lumber which kept up a seesawing tremolo of 
its own, to add to excitement — alternately 
“ swapping ” reminiscences and discussing the 
forthcoming launch. 

“ Tell me, Rag, have you got the bear corraled, 
yet? ” inquired Oakley. “ Or does he run away 
from you, still ? ” 

“ I’m afraid the bear is losing his power of lo- 
comotion — or Dickey his trick at make-believe! ” 
returned Greengage, answering for the child. “ I 
doubt if there’ll be any Santa Claus by Christmas 
time? Dickey’s all taken up with ‘ his boat,’ now 

— as he calls the vessel named after him. One 
of the ship-carpenters is whittling out a little 
model of her, which he can sail, himself, on the 
edges of the river; it’s to have spars and sails 

— a dandy rig! But I doubt if ’twill live very 
long! ” 

“ Let’s hope that won’t be the case with the 
vessel, herself,” murmured Oakley. 

“ I hope it won’t ! ” The schoolboy’s eager 
face took on a momentary shadow. “Of course, 
the Gage doesn’t belong to the builders now : she 
was bought, when half-built, by Messrs. Harvey 
& Swan — Gloucester ship-owners,” he ran on, 
giving the vessel-to-be the clipped name by which 
she would, by-and-by, be known along the water- 


154 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


front. “ That’s the owner’s flag in her bow ! ” 
pointing to a blue burgee, with white hieroglyph- 
ics. “ I’m going to shin aboard, presently, and 
hang this wreath of chrysanthemums on their 
flagstaff; my aunt sent it down! Won’t she look 
a bird then — ” ecstatically — “ with the Stars and 
Stripes astern ? ” 

She certainly did ! A proud bird, too — in her 
sleek plumage of dark paint, with the blue stripe 
round her run, and just the white lining of her 
bow-nest showing — poised above them upon 
the double-tier of launching ways slanting, at a 
steep grade of an inch-and-quarter to the foot, 
stern on, toward the river — her “ canted ” keel 
elevated some three feet from the ground by the 
heavy building blocks, beneath it — not yet re- 
moved. 

The sight of her would have made hearts older 
and colder than those of the two boys bob like 
cork on a combing wave of excitement ! 

“ There’ll be a raft of people on the ‘ slip,’ to 
watch her go ! ” burst forth Oakley, pointing 
to a thickening throng on the neighboring river- 
slip, or low wharf. 

“ Too bad that we can’t be launched in her! ” 
quoth Greengage. “Talk of your fun! That’s 
the top-notch for tobogganing sensation! One 
moment, you — you’re It — hanging on to the 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


155 


little old world’s ear ! Then,” sighing, “ the 
boat’s in the water- — and it’s all over! Well! 
there’s one consolation; we’ll both have the chance 
again. 

“ For, to-day, I’m nailed to Dickey, an’ 
Dickey to terra firma, because I promised my 
aunt ! ” magnanimously ran on the Latin School 
boy. “ But you can go off in her, if you want to, 
Oak; they’ll let you get aboard, if you can make 
a high-fly from the top of that staging — the 
gang-plank’s been taken away. See ! there’s 
quite a little crowd on her deck, too — one of the 
owners and a party of Gloucester people ! ” 

But Oakley elected to stay where he was; he 
did not want to taste the pinnacle sip of excite- 
ment, to be at the ecstatic centre of focused 
launching thrills on the white deck — to feel for 
a brief half-minute as if he were on the stiffened 
wing of some monster snowbird, flying sidelong 
— earth brushed aside — if his chum was nailed 
to commoner garden earth. 

“ I guess, we’d feel ‘ as if we’d belted the earth ’ 
on her deck ! But, we’ll see more, here ! ” he an- 
swered philosophically, edging nearer to Green- 
gage, with a movement which ratified the chum- 
tie, which had been forged spontaneously. 
“ See ! ” he added, with a sudden gasp. “ See ! 
that little grey feather of smoke, away off there, 


156 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


over the salt-marshes ; that must be from the tug- 
boat, coming to tow her round to Gloucester, after 
she’s launched? Yes! I can see the black rim 
of a smokestack — now.” 

“ Me, too ! ” whooped Gage. “ Say ! I’m 
going round to Gloucester on her — on the new 
boat ! ” he decided suddenly upon the spur of the 
moment. “ I’m not going to be out that pleasure 
— ’twill be a 4 banner trip,’ this morning, with 
such a breeze on the water — for all the Dickey- 
birds on earth! You’d better come, too, Oakie; 
you’ve got your property, here,” glancing at the 
latter’s twin “ reliables,” grip and overcoat. 
“ You won’t get to Gloucester quite as soon as by 
electric. But what’s the odds, if your uncle is 
sure not to be ‘ casting off ’ ; to-day anyhow ? ” 

“ None, that I can see! ” 

“ That’s fixed, then. Oh ! ’twill be a bully 
trip — four hours — and the Gage will roll like a 
basket, going outside Thatcher’s at the tail of a 
towrope without spars or ballast in her ! ” 

“ Who cares if she does play rigadoons with 
us ? ” demanded Oakley, with the microbe of ad- 
venture in his blood. 

“ Not I ! I’ll track Mr. Damon and see if he 
can’t send some one of the shipyard gang up 
home, with Dickey, after the launch is over? 
Here, he’s coming this way now ! ” 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


157 


The tall dignitary was approaching, with clear, 
cool eye, and face sobered by anxiety of the final 
half-hour preceding a launch — when all sorts of 
off chances swarm like gnats round the maiden 
hull — least of which is that she may stick fast on 
the launching ways, refuse to go, at all, despite 
the festive party gathered in “ glad rags/’ to 
witness her nuptials with the river. 

Or she may start bravely on her waltzing glide 
and some slight error in placing her weight, cause 
her to crash down through cradle timbers, a 
helpless stick-in-the-mud — a pathetic case of: 
“ Down will come baby, cradle, an’ all ! ” 

Or, even, after the river has claimed her, she 
may “ cut up rough,” follow the example of one 
malcontent vessel — keel over on her side upon 
opposite salt-marshes, facing the shipyard. 

To be sure! the annals of each yard may boast 
of but one such example, amid thousands of suc- 
cessful launches. Such chances keep excitement 
on the razor-edge during final moments. 

The tall shipbuilder’s face broke into a smile, 
however, as he saw the trio on the swaying reef of 
lumber : 

“ Ha ! So, Dickey is here, to see ‘ his ves- 
sel 9 go off ! ” he said. “ Well, boys, did they 
put you up a good breakfast at the hotel, this 
morning? I don’t feed tramps, on princi - 


158 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


pie — ” dropping a humorous glance on Oak- 
ley. 

“No; I guess, you feed them on something 
more substantial! ” challenged Greengage, auda- 
ciously. 

“ See here ! Gagie, they’re polishing those wits 
of yours too much in Latin School! Look at 
those kids across the river, starting a preliminary 
launch of their own ! ” 

Mr. Damon waved his hand toward the salt- 
marshes opposite where a group of urchins, wad- 
ing knee-deep, amid shaggy black grass, had 
launched a decrepit wash-tub, and were now 
doing their raw best to capsize it with stones ! 

“ Hurrah ! she floats, in spite of them, the old 
tub ! Good for her ! ” exulted Oak, breath- 
lessly, taking this as a fair omen, glancing from 
distant, bobbing caricature of a launch to the 
handsome boat above him. “ She floats — for all 
their knocks ! That — that’s what the Gage will 
do, when the seas are pounding her, like an 
earthquake! And may I be there to see — just 
once, at any rate ! ” he yearned, as the shipbuilder 
strolled on. “ If Uncle Ceeph ever should take 
out this one, I’ll make the trip with him to 
Georges, at all events — even, if I never get so 
far as Johnny Campbell’s Spot! ” 

“ There’ll be a pair of us ; if he takes you, as 


THE RICHARD A. GAGE 


159 


passenger, he’ll have to take me, too ! ” declared 
his new chum. 

And the boys fell into a day-dreamy conversa- 
tion, of which the maiden vessel and “ See you 
on Georges!” were, respectively, subject and 
theme ! 


CHAPTER XI 


THE LAUNCH 

^^T^OUNDING her, like an earthquake!” 

I— ^ In spite of his determination to be in at 
that pounding — for once, at any rate 
— the prospect he had suggested brought some- 
thing like a lump into Oakley’s throat ! 

From constant association with fishermen, the 
skipper’s son could picture more realistically than 
was possible for the shipbuilder’s nephew how 
those seas would rake and hurl her: that beau- 
tiful dark boat, with her long bowsprit upslanted, 
like a humming-bird’s beak, drawing nectar from 
the heart of the October sunshine ! 

As excited minutes wore on, Oak began to have 
eyes for nothing but the poised boat. A “ boat,” 
yet, on shipyard tongues — not to take out her 
degree as a vessel, until masts were stepped, wire 
rigging set up, running rigging rove through 
block and dead-eye — until, finally, the breath of 
life should be breathed into her with her sails, 
supplying a motive power of her own, dependent 
on naught save the winds of heaven ! 

160 


THE LAUNCH 


161 


Turning to a tall shipsmith near, Oakley began 
to ply him with questions about the method of 
launching ! 

“ Well, you see the lower tier of launching 
ways, as we call it, consists mainly of that long, 
heavy plank, blocked up there, running out into 
the water,” explained the grown-up spectator, 
who had supplied the “ gammon,” or iron ring 
on the milky bowsprit, its cap, also, and bobstay- 
plates on the armored bow, to which, by-and-by, 
wire rigging would be made fast. “ That plank 
has been bolted down solid — so it can’t budge — 
and the upper side greased with tallow — lots o’ 
care goes into that smearing, I tell you ! ” 

“ As much as Frenchy puts into 4 greasing his 
little dog’s nose with tar,’ eh?” suggested Oak, 
laughingly, eyeing the podgy, but powerful, little 
Frenchman, who sauntered by, at the moment, 
hugging an axe, still* humming: “ Oh, Jean 
Ba’tis’e, c’est bon ! ” determined that the new boat 
should not be hoodooed, for lack of music. 

“ Say, Frenchy — where did you pick up your 
'little dog’ with the catarrh?” called Oakley, 
hailing him, as he passed. 

“ Mon fader, he marin — sailor — he’ll com’ 
f’om France : pick heem up in Boulogne — Lon- 
donne — som’ beeg citee!” with a genial shrug. 

When laughter had “ blown down,” the smith 


1 62 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


went on : “ Well ! another long plank is greased, 

too; laid on the lower one, tallow to tallow! 
Then, some of the vessel’s weight is taken on 
those greased ways, either by driving wedges be- 
tween her and them, or by heeling her over to 
one side, onto those greased ways — I guess, 
that’s a * dodge ’ of our own, here, in Essex ! The 
Gage is slightly heeled, for her launching.” 
pointing to the slightly dipping broadside. “ She 
can’t begin to crawl, though, until the heavy 
blocking under her keel, on which she was built, 
is all split out ! I guess, they’re about starting in 
to do that now ! ” 

“What length is she, d’ you suppose?” per- 
sisted the eager questioner. 

“ Oh, about ninety-five feet ‘ over all,’ I should 
say, from her knightheads to her taffrail ! ” The 
smith ran his eye down the slant of the rail from 
gleaming bow-peak to starry ensign, aft. “ She’s 
not so big as some of the corkers that are built, 
nowadays, for the long trip away up north, or 
to Gran’ Banks. They say she’ll go trawling to 
Georges, mostly, or Brown’s — some of them 
near-home banks. But this one will be a first- 
class — what there is of her — from keelson to 
mastheads ! ” 

“ You bet she will ! ” seconded Oakley, his eye 
scaling the sleek broadside up forward, from the 


THE LAUNCH 


163 


base of reddish-brown keel to the tip of her bow- 
rail — a height of fourteen feet, or thereabouts. 
What’s that fellow, ‘ Mitch,’ doing, sitting up 
aloft there — dangling his legs ? ” he inquired, 
suddenly. 

“ Plugging up spike-holes, where iron spikes 
dug in, which fastened her side to a cleat of the 
staging, painting over the plugged hollows, so 
there won’t be a blemish — the size of a freckle — 
on her ! ” 

“ Incidentally, he’s painting Frenchy’s freck- 
les, and his nose ! ” laughed Greengage, the 
lumber pile rocking under him. “ Poor Frenchy ! 
he gets it handed out to him — all round.” 

Mitch — more fully Andy Mitchell — en- 
throned twelve feet above, had wickedly dropped 
two glistening splotches from his reeking paint- 
brush right on his fellow-workman’s cheek and 
retrousse pug! 

“ Sapre ! you’ll no paint me. I’ll go for you 

— t’row you down, like green apples,” barked 
the latter excitedly. “Eh b’en! je vais — 
workee.” 

And Frenchy, smearing his war-paint over a 
nose “ greased,” for once, like his little dog’s 

— hugging the axe — darted between the ves- 
sel’s cradle timbers, round to her other side. 

“ Workee ! ” it was, indeed, with a vengeance. 


164 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Very much “workee!” Mitch, dropping down 
from his lofty throne, gripping an axe too, 
crouched under the new boat’s broadside, close 
to her keel, elevated some three feet from the 
ground by the heavy building blocks, running 
transversely beneath her ! 

One after another, those great logs were “ split 
out ” by alternate blows of the ship-carpenter’s 
hammers, thundering on either side of that choco- 
late-colored keel, which had passed its green 
stage ! 

Thud! Thud! . . . Thud! Thud! Now 

and again, Oak caught sight of Mitchell’s face, 
wild with strain of excited labor — heard his 
fierce pant, as chief noisemaker. 

“ Split out that corner — Frenchy boy — fore 
an’ aft, so nothing’ll ketch ! Split does it ! 
There, that’s out of her way ! ” Another huge 
block was flung aside ! 

“ Are they all ready, on deck? If so — we’ll 
let her go!" Mitch’s bare head and rivered 
face popped forth again, like a wet gust, through 
a wide gap of the skeleton cradle ! 

“ All right, ‘ Cyclone ! ’ Let her crawl ! ” It 
was Mr. Damon’s voice, in half-amused order; 
his tall figure loomed before Oak’s strained eyes, 
like that of some stately captain of a Navy Yard, 
manoeuvring a battleship! 


THE LAUNCH 


165 


Simultaneously, the lad was conscious of strong 
Hibernian accents remarking behind him, to the 
yard, in general : “ D’ye know what the new 

boat ’minds me of now, stuck up, there, lookin’ 
proud? Faith! she’s not, altogether, unlike a 
boy, surveyin’ his legs, in their first pair o’ 
‘ Mother-says-I-grows ’ pants — feelin’ as if he 
owned the earth, not knowing what hard 
knocks are waitin’ for him, round the corner. 
But,” cheerily, “ with the help o’ God, both 
boy an’ boat, will take what’s cornin’ to ’em — an’ 
ride it out ! ” 

“ With the help o’ God — they will! ” growled 
Oakley, deep down in a thickening throat. 

There was a blurred brightness in Greengage’s 
eyes, “ as of steel that is breathed upon.” He 
edged closer to his companion’s side. Dickey’s 
cheeks were puffed into half-globes, linked to- 
gether by the taut, expectant grin which had dec- 
orated his face when Oak first saw him. 

“ Ready, there, with your saws — boys ? ” 
The last keel-block had been knocked out : it was 
the tense yard captain who spoke; his final word 
of command sounding like an order to marines to 
“ Charge with cutlass ! ” 

Away went axes, dropped by “ Cyclone ” and 
Frenchy! Saw in hand, each leaped forward to 
where an anxious foreman stood near two upright 


166 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


timbers, part of the vessel’s cradle, bolted to the 
ground — last barrier which held the Gage a 
prisoner ! 

“Hiss!” “Swish!” Saws bit through them ! 

“Jump — clear! She begins to crawl: she’s 
going! ” 

Capless — streaming — Mitch and Frenchy 
“ jumped from under ! ” 

“ She kick ! she cr-r-rawl ! Hour-rah, she 
go ” The Frenchman’s rivered face shone, livid, 
as a lightning banner, in rain! 

“She crawls! She moves! She starts !” 
Each voice of the low yard-chorus seemed at- 
tached to a “ snubbing-line ” in the speaker — 
which, as yet, would only let it out a little way, 
in exultation! 

Imperceptibly, at first — imperceptibly, as 
comes the miracle of life at the final moment — 
faster now, darting with waltzing sway, skating 
on her ear for one wild moment, the “ bird ” 
boat glided on her twig — upper smeared plank, 
which slid with her — ■ stern on, to the river ! 

“ Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! She launches, all right ! 
What’s the matter with — her? Hi! Hi! 
There she goes ! She’s the one ! Hi ! Hi ! 
. . . Hi! Hour-rah! ” Frenchy coming in on 

the staccato crow. 

“ Hi ! Hi ! ” There was no snubbing-line of 


THE LAUNCH 


167 


suspense, now, to tie up the cheers: they burst 
forth, with the low, random popping of a newly 
lit fire ! 

The “ snub was on the vessel,” though in the 
shape of a stout rope, passing forth through the 
port hawse-pipe in her bow — made fast ashore 
— to fetch her up, ere her stern should ground in 
the mud of tidal shallows, halt her safely in 
mid-channel ! She did not immediately waltz the 
full length of this tether, but stopped, after a 
little preliminary canter — all a-tremble, like a 
shying pony! 

Her cradle timbers dragged in the mud at the 
water’s edge : “ They brought her up, stand- 

ing • ” growled the smith. 

“ But didn’t she go off just as fair an 3 easy?” 
exulted two boys, each fluting on the last three 
words with variations. 

“ Fair’n’ easy!” trilled Dickey, in sawed-off 
echo — small hands starting to clap, and, only, 
patting the air into invisible sun-pies, as, with 
craned neck, he followed the flight of “ his boat ” 
to the water. 

“ Fair and easy ! ” gurgled the river, fanning 
the new hull with its combing spray, forming a 
succession of downy fans, all trooping past her, 
tossing one aigrette plume aloft, to tickle the Stars 
and Stripes — the already baptized ensign ! 


168 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


And, now, the dark tugboat which was to 
act as convoy to the maiden hull — circling near 

— took up the launching hurrah ! Three times 
the steam crowed in her funnel, and kept on crow- 
ing! 

“ Bravo ! that tug-captain’s a dandy. He’s 
giving the Gage three-times-three ! ” gurgled the 
Latin School boy, jigging Oak’s arm in his ex- 
citement. “ Great Gov’ner ! didn’t she launch 
prettily ? She’s the slickest bit o’ wood — as 
Mitch says. Oh! ’twill be a peachy trip this 
morning — round the Cape, to Gloucester — on 
her new deck ! Simply ‘ lollipolossa,’ in this 
breeze ! ” 

Simultaneously, hats were waving from the 
white deck, above the blue stripe! Women’s 
handkerchiefs answered from shore! Here one 

— there another — each small steam-launch in 
the river echoed the tug’s triple cheer in a puny 
crow ! 

And the new boat, drifting out to mid-channel, 
rode sedately, a portion of her loosened cradle 
timbers drifting beside her, like floating memories 
of an inert stage from which she had emerged, 
a bright river chrysalis — not yet independently 
alive — not yet a vessel! 


CHAPTER XII 

A PARTING HAWSER 


“ LOLLIPOLOSSA ” trip, it promised to 



be, truly, to echo the schoolboy’s laugh- 


ing expression: down the Essex river, 
on that new deck, bobbing at the tail of a fifty- 
foot towrope, with laughing sou’ west breeze 
tickling grey tidal plains on either side of steel- 
blue mid-channel! 

During an aftermath of excitement, succeeding 
the launch, the Rickard A. Gage , with a line out 
fore and aft to shore, was drawn in ’longside the 
wharf, amid a babel of cries, to allow of some 
“ booby ” hatches — storm hatches — and other 
“ stuff ” supplied by the builders to be put aboard 
her! 

“Now’s our chance; directly she gets ’long- 
side, we’ll shin aboard, with the other boo- 
bies ! ” laughed the shipbuilder’s nephew. “ See ! 
Oakie, they’re starting the new boat off with a 
smoke-talk as per usual ! ” 

Here and there, on the white deck broke out 


169 


170 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


little smouldering points of red ; a uniformed man 
was passing around cigars. 

“ That’s the only ceremony that goes with a 
launching, here, nowadays,” explained the ship- 
smith, who lingered near the boys, as if he liked 
their enthusiastic neighborhood. “ My father can 
remember the last ‘ boat-hauling,’ over sixty years 
ago, as a launching was called, in those days; 
then, there was ceremony, or * celebrating,’ 
enough ! Fishing vessels were built a mile, or so 
inland, up on the creek,” mentioning the fresh- 
water stream which, at a little distance above the 
shipyards, loses itself in the Essex river, a wind- 
ing arm of tide, running inland some seven miles 
from Ipswich Bay. “ The problem, when a boat 
was built, was how to float her ; so the neighbors 
held a kind of ‘ launching bee ; ’ lent their oxen — 
those that had ’em — the boat was loaded onto a 
rough sled, dragged along the road to the river, 
and shoved out, like a child, taking its first dip ! ” 

“ I guess, they did enough ‘ celebrating,’ then 
to make up for want o’ ceremony ! ” laughed Oak- 
ley. 

“ You bet they did ! These times are ‘ one bet- 
ter ’ ! ” with responsive chuckle. “ Men had to 
pitch in and help haul the boat — when the oxen 
gave out! The first craft ever built, here, was 
launched out of a garret window: folks took 


A PARTING HAWSER 


171 


down part of the side-wall of their house — and 
shot her out onto the water ! ” 

“ Great boat she must have been,” mused Oak; 
“ some sort of raw old 4 pinkey,’ I suppose — 
high, fore an’ aft, and rigged like a tripod ! ” gaz- 
ing at the long, “ toothpick ” hull, now, nestling 
beside the wharf — thrilling with thought of the 
vessel he meant some day to design, which, of 
course, would beat the whole band, ancient and 
modern! Just as each imaginative boy thinks it 
is reserved for him, for him, alone, to discover 
the North Pole! 

Vision was lost in reality, at present, though! 

“ See ! they’ve got a gangway up to the new 
rail now ! ” burst forth Greengage. “ Mitch and 
Frenchy are carrying those booby hatches aboard. 
I’m going to hustle Dickey on deck for a min- 
ute : he ought, by rights, to have been on her 
when she was launched, to bring his namesake 
luck!” 

So “ Rag ” stood on the Gage's quarter-deck ; 
the rainbowed, fringes of his Indian toggery, 
which had passed undimmed through marsh flood, 
showing beneath some enveloping garment — a 
childish overcoat! 

“ He simply howled when my aunt told him 
he’d have to wear his corduroys, to-day ! ” ex- 
plained Dickey’s schoolboy cousin. “ An’ uncle 


m 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


brought him that Indian rig, from Kansas City; 
I believe he has slept in it ever since ! ” in laugh- 
ing banter. 

And presently Frenchy, having set down the 
booby hatch, flashed aft, seized the disguised 
Kickapoo, and stood him on the house — the low 
white square of cabin roof. 

“ Ha ! ” he rumbled hilariously. “ Comment 
— you ain’ so baby any longer? You haf ves- 
sel nam’ for — you ! Voild les gran’ pant’ Ions — 
de long trousere ! ” looking down, at a rainbowed 
ankle, protruding from the cloth overcoat. 
“ Vif les gran’ gar cons! ” in a mighty crow. 

“ Vive les grands gargons! ” echoed Oakley 
and Gage, while “ Rag,” not knowing what it 
was all about — that, for a moment, he was 
sweepingly included in the grand army of “ big 
boys — ” yet showed by his grin a “ streaky, un- 
derstanding ” of being somehow the “ top notch,” 
for the time being! 

u Vif le vaisseau!” rumbled Frenchy, again, 
in a subdued cheer. 

“ Vive le vaisseau! Long life to the vessel! ” 
breathed one and another, on the milky deck — in 
drawn-out echo. 

“Take him ashore with you, ‘Frenchy’ — if 
you’ll be so good ! ” suggested Gage Green ; 
“ they’re about taking the gang-plank away, now ; 


A PARTING HAWSER 


173 


Mr. Damon promised to send one of the yard 
boys up home with him ! ” 

And Dickey, deposed from the “ top notch,” 
had to yield place to the vessel, his namesake, 
as the heroine of the hour! 

Sandwiched now between the wharf and the 
dark, strong tugboat which had crowded her a 
little in the narrow channel, it was up to the tow- 
boat’s capain, who strode from his turret pilot- 
house onto her deck, as the two crafts lay broad- 
side together, to manoeuvre her clear of sandy 
shoals, head her safely down-stream, his heavy 
hawser towing her! 

His orders crackled right and left : “ Slack on 

that bow-line, Mitch, boy ! ” to young Mitchell 
— a perfect “ cyclone,” now illustrating his nick- 
name — as he blew from one end of the wharf to 
the other. “ Right you are ! Hold her, astern 
there, Billy! Ease off a little grain, Cyclone! 
Thunderation ! ’twill be the limit, to turn her, 
here.” 

“ The Cap’ doesn’t look as if anything could 
‘ limit ’ him! ” laughed Oakley. “ Don’t believe 
there’s sand enough in the river bed to faze 
him ! ” while from the wharf compliant shouts 
rang up : “ Aye ! aye ! Cap’ ; she’s edging off ! 

Swinging clear, Cap’ ; she’ll crawl out all right ! ” 

“ The Cap’ isn’t starting her off with the pipe 


174 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


of peace, I notice ! ” chuckled Greengage, in turn, 
“ so I guess we’re in good company ! ” counting 
cigar-tips active in the “ smoke-talk ” ceremony. 

“ ‘ There are others ! ’ ” Oak was numbering 
non-smokers. “ But — the Cap': well ! I should 
say we are in high company ! ” his boyish gaze, 
which worshipped physical power, exulting in that 
central figure on the deck, figure of a sea-lord, 
from peaked headgear to shoe-leather. “ Uncle 
Ceeph doesn’t go in for tobacco, either; says he 
can get along better without it, even on a long 
northern trip — made me promise to do as much, 
ashore ! ” 

“ I’m not going to begin till I’m twenty-one ; 
sha’n’t want to then, probably ! ” chirked the 
schoolboy. “Feel her bump, that time? She 
dragged her shoe in the sand ! ” laughingly. 

Slowly — slowly — the white deck was swing- 
ing round, until the new boat was headed down- 
stream, headed for the sea, her milky bowsprit, 
like a swimming beak, pointed for the tug’s dark 
smokestack, as the latter, hauling on her with a 
short rope, piloted her carefully amid the river’s 
windings ! 

The redoubtable “ Cap’ ” had returned to his 
crystal-paneled pilot house: with the aid of a 
river-pilot who, once in a while, took careful 
soundings, he was feeling the way, step by 


A PARTING HAWSER 


175 


step, for the helpless “ launch ” which he had in 
tow ! A wobbly “ launch,” at this stage of the 
game, trusting only in the tug, that sturdy de- 
fender, to keep her from dragging her maiden 
shoe in sand or mud of tidal shallows — ground- 
ing there, ignominiously. 

“ I guess, those two fellows at the wheel need 
to have their eyes peeled in order to keep her bow- 
sprit in a bee-line with the tug’s smokestack ! ” 
suggested Oakley, strolling aft toward that 
freshly varnished wheel, with which he had failed 
to make acquaintance, last evening, when he 
stumbled onto the milky deck, tired, blind and 
footsore ! 

The wheel was, now, doing its preliminary can- 
ter, rapidly heaved up by two experienced pairs of 
hands belonging to the foreman painter of the 
shipyard and his assistant, who had dressed the 
bridal hull in her glistening garment of paint — 
and, at present, had charge of steering her round 
to Gloucester, in the towboat’s wake — when the 
builders would “ wash their hands of her ! ” 

It would be left to spar-maker and rigger to 
develop her into a vessel ! 

“ Hullo! Lem Finney,” cried Greengage, lurch- 
ing aft, in his friend’s wake, hailing the ex- 
pert ship’s painter, “ won’t you let us take our 
trick at the wheel, presently, ’twill relieve you; 


176 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


we want to ‘ spell ’ you! ” nudging Oak with his 
elbow. 

“ Well ! you may, by-and-by, when we get past 
some nasty places on the river,” returned the 
helmsman; “ we don’t want to ground her in the 
mud, with the tide soon leaving us — to stick 
high and dry for the next six hours, or so! You 
can ‘ spell ’ us all you want, Gagie, when we 
get out in the bay, with plenty of sea-room an’ 
watery bottom, under her! I guess, maybe, you 
won’t want to then, though,” heaving up rapidly, 
a sly gleam in the corner of his eye which was 
glued to the feathered smokestack, ahead. 
“ You’ll be huddling amidship, wishing you 
hadn’t done it — hadn’t come ! I tell you, 
’twill be a little grain choppy, going round the 
Cape ! ” with a laughing air of putting things 
mildly. 

“ Me — • seasick ? ” scouted Greengage. “ And 
if I am, I’m willing to pay for my fun,” sotto 
voce. “ Say, Oak — what did I tell you — isn’t 
it a ‘ peachy ’ trip down the river this morn- 
ing?” 

“ Simply corking ! ” returned the latter suc- 
cinctly. Witfudilating nostrils drinking in fresh- 
ness of the sou’westerly breeze, with eager eyes 
on green-rimmed windings of the river ahead — 
like a series of blue lakes, swimming-ponds for 


A PARTING HAWSER 


m 


the hardy sunbeams — he felt as much a “ new 
boy ” as if he had caught up with his Uncle 
Ceeph, and were, already, heading for Johnny 
Campbell’s Spot! 

It was with a welcome start that in the dig- 
nified, grey-haired man, aboard, whom his school- 
boy friend pointed out, as member of the ship- 
owning firm which had purchased the Richard A . 
Gage , he recognized the elderly car-passenger 
who had joined yesterday in the lively conversa- 
tion with Conductor Bill — dubbing his skipper 
granduncle a “ good boy ! ” 

“ Hullo ! I thought you were heading for 
Green Bank,” joked the owner. “ I don’t know 
whether the little Dorcas Bliss has gone out yet, or 
not ; scarcely glanced at a paper, this morning be- 
fore I started up to Essex, from Gloucester.” 

“ I guess, the Dorcas doesn’t belong to Messrs. 
Harvey & Swan’s fleet ! ” murmured Greengage, 
keeping at his friend’s elbow: and the two boys 
found themselves drawn, presently into a merry 
circle of the owner’s party, gay as wedding 
guests, in which ladies predominated, called upon 
every now and again to steer some wind-torn 
damsel to a point of comparative shelter on the 
bare deck. 

It was generally “ up to ” Oak to perform these 
rockaway feats of chivalry ; Gage contenting him- 


178 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


self with unloading advice, such as : “ Look 

out for rocks, Oak ! ” or “ What do you take me 
for — a sinker on a handline — trying to heave 
me overboard ? ” etc. 

By-and-by, the girls flocking together, in a row, 
like blizzard-swept birds, seated amidships on 
the low white step of the quarter-deck, the youth- 
ful cavaliers found themselves at liberty to roost 
and “ cut up ” on the milky square of the cabin 
roof, aft, near the cantering wheel ! 

“ Glory ! if this wouldn’t make any fellow 
feel himself the ‘ top notch,’ ” gurgled Oak exult- 
antly, feeling fairly astride of the river-breeze, 
rioting round him. “ I suppose those are the 
Sugarloaf sand-dunes, ’way off there ! ” point- 
ing to distant reefs like gleaming snow-ridges, 
beyond wide plains of tideway, flanking silky blue 
of the river’s winding passage. “ See that little 
old bush poking up its head? And the thatch- 
grass : I guess, there’s about a thimbleful of water 
on those shallows! It’s well that the tugboat is 
keeping its weather-eye peeled, looking out for 
us! ‘ Oh — oh, Jean Ba’ti’se , c’est bon!’” he 
hummed hilariously, feeling Nature’s beauty and 
riot in his blood. 

“ I told you this river trip would make any 
fellow feel good ! ” Greengage was feasting 
on sunny turmoil, too. “ He’s a queer bird — 


A PARTING HAWSER 


179 


that Frenchy,” ran on the schoolboy, also tuning 
up on his little “ dog’s nose.” “ He was born up 
near Quebec ; his father was a sailor aboard some 
big barque — English, I think. Frenchy made 
a couple of trips with him, as cabin-boy, long ago ; 
can’t be content now to work ashore all the year 
round — goes fishing in summer-time ! ” 

“ His name is Hyacinthe Leduc,” Gage’s 
laughter crackled like “ green thorns.” “ When 
I found out that, in cold English, it was ‘ Hya- 
cinth,’ I nicknamed him ‘ Bulb : ’ he’s so round- 
bodied ! Mitch put him on to my ‘ tag,’ but he 
never has it straight — gets back at a fellow by 
calling me ‘ Green-plum ! ’ ” 

“ Faith ! I’m thinkin’ the plum ain’t so ‘ green ’ 
as it looks, Gagie boy! ” struck in a rich, neigh- 
ing voice, easily identified as that which had com- 
pared the new boat on the launching ways to a 
boy in his first pair of “ Mother-says-I-grows ” 
long trousers. 

“ ‘ Faith an’,’ one might know it was you , 
Barty, buzzing in ! ” threw back Gage, with the 
best imitation he could muster, offhand, of the 
newcomer’s south of Ireland accent. “ Directly, 
I hear you — a deck-length off — I begin to * run 
my words all up into the roof of my mouth — ’ 
I begin to ‘ brogue me, too,’ as Frenchy says! ” 

“ As if havin’ yer speech all nice an’ tidy under 


180 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


your palate, wouldn’t be better than keeping 
it up-garret wan minute, an’ down-cellar, the 
next ! ” retorted the Irishman, a six-footer, broad 
in proportion, dropping to a seat, beside the 
boys on the cabin-roof, while he got off his 
barbarous allusion to Gage’s “ changing ” voice, 
which, just at present “ had no middle ” to it! 

Oak was, meanwhile, swinging his heels exu- 
berantly on a corner of the white house, with a 
complacent feeling of having “ cornered a re- 
served seat for the show,” which — so far as 
dialogue was concerned — promised to be a lively 
one between breezy Celt and Latin School boy. 

“ An’ how are ye coming out on them high 
school league games ye were telling me about ? ” 
questioned Mr. Barty, after a minute spent in gaz- 
ing off at the white sand Sugarloafs. “ Who 
was atop in the last ball-game ? ” 

Greengage’s face fell : “ We weren't! ” he de- 

plored. “ In baseball, there’s another high school 
two ahead of us, yet ; we have to win three games 
to get in lead ! ” 

“ You playing on the team, still? ” 

“ Sure ! ” Gage’s back stiffened ; “ didn’t sup- 
pose they’d dropped me, did you ? ” 

“ Then, you must be ‘ toeing the mark ’ in your 
studies, accordin’ to what you told me about 
rules an’ regulations? Well! that same is good. 


A PARTING HAWSER 


181 


Sure, a lazy brain is the Black One’s threshing- 
floor ! ” ejaculated the Irishman piously. “ We’re 
cornin’ to wan o’ the nastiest places on the river 
now, boys! Pretty soon, you’ll see the tug cut- 
ting capers — drawin’ a tidy S ahead of us ! ” 
“Yes! I know that, somewhere between us 
and that point, off there, with the trees, the 
passage narrows — becomes pretty ticklish for 
any boat with a keel under her, to creep 
through ! ” returned Gage anxiously. 

All three individuals seated on the cabin-roof, 
were, now, gazing away diagonally across mother- 
of-pearl plains of tideway, toward that distant 
point of trees — a velvet-capped evergreen or two 
— long-sparred sentinels — outlined against a 
sky of pale dazzle ! 

“See, the mud-shadow poking its nose up!” 
murmured Greengage to Oakley. “ I guess, 
there’s about a teaspoonful of water on those 
shallows ; and the passage winds in an’ out among 
them — until we pass the point ! ” 

Across that spreading lake of pearl, with an 
opaqueness to it, like an iridescent oyster-shell, 
the tugboat must creep diagonally — cutting fig- 
ures, as Barty said — trying to keep her “ tow,” 
the new boat, not swerving a hair’s breadth from 
the narrow channel’s spidery “ passage ! ” 

“ The river-pilot, on the tug, will be taking his 


182 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


soundings pretty careful, from now on, for a lit- 
tle while ! ” commented Barty, on the situation. 
“ There’s no fear o’ the tugboat — she hasn’t a 
ha’porth o’ keel! But the tide is beginning to 
turn, already : if the vessel should catch her shoe 
in the mud an’ stick fast, till high water, again, 
’twould be kind o’ dumfoundering after her 
launchin’ — so slick ! 

“ Shouldn’t wonder if she was ‘ hoodooed,’ 
though, the new boat, by havin’ a fellow with 
a straw hat aboard her this time o’ year ! ” 
Not a muscle of the Irishman’s face stirred from 
rocky gravity, as he shot a tail-end glance from 
twinkling eye-corner at Greengage’s headgear. 
“ Before I’d be found drowned going round the 
Cape in a straw hat, on the twelfth of October,” 
he ejaculated hoarsely, “ I’d take a header over- 
board, now ! ” 

“ Before you’d be ‘ found drowned going round 
the Cape, in a straw hat ! ’ He ! He ! Suppose 
’twould stick to you ? ” Gage pointed a bayonet 
figure at the big Celt, hugging himself in delight, 
over the mixed “ bull ! ” Then he reddened, a 
little : “ I had a cap on this morning — hadn’t I, 

Oak ? ” he appealed to his newly adopted chum. 
“ When I ran up to the house, to fetch Dickey 
down to see his “ boat go,” I threw it off, 
s-somewhere — couldn’t lay my hand on it, again 


A PARTING HAWSER 


183 


— was afraid I wouldn’t be in time to see them 
getting ready for the launch, so I picked up this 
old straw hat that I left down here in Septem- 
ber ! 

“ I only came over from Salem, last evening, 
anyhow ! ” pursuing his vindication, while Barty 
continued to eye askew the discolored straw. 
Already, on the hotel piazza, Oak had discov- 
ered that young Green lived “ up at ” Salem, 
whence he journeyed in, every morning, to his 
school of great traditions — but that little old 
Essex was his playground ! “ I tried to wear a 

soft felt, of my uncle’s ; it buried me to the eyes ! ” 
he averred. 

“ Well ! I guess, that if you put as much ‘ hus- 
tle ’ into anything worth while, Gagie, as you 
do into hunting up that cap o’ yours, you’d 
come up out atop — some time ! ” remarked the 
Irishman, in turn, wagging the sage finger. 

“ You haven’t got a second ‘ inkspot ’ in that 
old alligator of yours, have you, Oak ? ” sug- 
gested the schoolboy, kicking the gripsack at his 
feet. ‘No?’ Too bad! By-the-by!” in a 
flurry to change the capping question. “ By- 
the way, Bart, I didn’t introduce you to my 
friend; we’re all hail-fellow-well-met on a new 
deck, anyhow : Mr. Oakley Rose, Mr. Barty 
O’Halloran ! ” 


184 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Pleased to meet you ! ” murmured the Amer- 
icanized Irishman. “ You anything to a Cap- 
tain Rose who used to sail out o’ Gloucester, 
about ten years ago ? ” 

“ He was my father,” returned Oak, in low- 
ered tones. 

“ That so ? I never met him, but a great 
skipper he was, by all accounts ! ” 

“ He has a granduncle who’s a ‘ great skip- 
per,’ too,” struck in Gage, enlarging on his 
friend’s family-tree : “ Capt’n Cephas Dart ; 
maybe you know him ? ” 

“ Is it know the old man f ” Barty’s river- 
blue eye glistened. “ Well ! I should smile. An’ 
me after fishing with him out o’ Gloucester, on 
more’n one trip? So you’re his nephew? ” turn- 
ing to Oak. “ Shake ! ” A boy’s fingers tingled 
for fully five minutes! 

“ I might ha’ gone with him, now — I hear he’s 
started out, again — but ’twas so long since I 
was ashore for a spell that me own mother hardly 
knew me! Only the little old blue jay that I 
keep in a cage, did; when he saw me cornin’ up 
the walk, blest ! if he didn’t puff himself out into a 
blue ball an’ kick up sand to beat the band! 
How’s that for rhyme, me Latin School hero ? ” 
“ B-Bully — ” Gage was beginning, when he 


A PARTING HAWSER 


185 


stammered — caught himself up, all a-blink ! 
“Bump! She grounded that time!” he broke 
off, with widening eyes. 

“ Bump ! Bump ! She did, sure enough ! ” 
echoed Barty, as a vibratory throb shook the new 
deck. “ Dragged her shoe on the edge of a mud- 
bed — the creature!” alluding to bottom shoeing 
timber on the maiden boat’s keel. “ She’s off 
again — hurrah for her ! By Saint Paddy ! ’twas 
a close shave ! Passage is pretty foxy, here ; I’m 
going for’ard, to take a squint ahead ! ” 

He strolled along the white deck, humming 
reminiscently, under his breath — apropos of the 
“ foxy ” channel — a hunting song of his own 
country : 

“When Reynard was first taken, the laws to fulfil. 

He called for pen an’ paper, for to write down his will! 
In all that he wrote — faith ! — you couldn’t find a blank, 
For he left to each a clear draught on the Pro-vin-cial 
bank! 

Tally-ho! Harkaway! Tally-ho! Harkaway, 

Tally-ho! Harkaway, me boys, away — harkaway! 

The big, preoccupied voice boomed forth un- 
consciously on the rollicking refrain: two boys, 
who promptly heaved themselves off the cabin- 
roof, following him forward, in a wriggly 
wake, like a comet’s tail — together with half the 
deck — were presently chanting : 


186 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“Tally-ho! Harkaway, my boys! away — harkaway!” 

But one voice snapped viciously on the last 
“ Harkaway : ” Gage found himself chasing that 
“ hoodooing ” straw hat — which the wind had 
snatched off — half a rolling deck’s length ! 

“ Look out; your hair will go next! ” came the 
general hoot of derision, as he hunted it down. 

“ What’d I tell ye ? ” The Irishman, glancing 
round at a breathless pursuer, shook his head, as 
if the “ straw ” moral had been pointed. 

“ See those little flags, out ahead, there, 
’tached to buoys; they’re markin’ the river pas- 
sage?” he presently explained to Oakley, as the 
two stood, “ way up for’ard,” in the tilted bow, 
to starboard of the heavy towing hawser, made 
fast to a barrel of the white windlass, on the port 
side. 

Thence, it passed forth, that “ six-inch ” tow- 
rope, through the port hawse-pipe — one of two 
zinc-lined bow-holes, for the paying out of cable, 
by-and-by — forth to the piloting tug, now wind- 
ing in and out on a final curve of the drawnout 
S, which a “ ticklish ” passage here described ! 

Greengage, cornering his flyaway straw just 
within the port bowrail, took root there, blow- 
ing like a grampus — three feet of tapering white 
deck separating him from his companions. 


A PARTING HAWSER 


187 


All three eagerly gazed ahead, trying to follow 
movements of the river pilot on the tugboat, 
who, ever and anon, dropped overboard his 
sounding lead, to test the depth of a wavering 
channel. Already, the tide was on the turn ! 

“ Great Caesar ! she bumps again. That was 
a hot grounder ! ” panted Oakley, aghast. “ She’s 
sticking dead-fast this time; tug won’t be able to 
haul her off ! ” in frothing excitement. 

“ Bump ! She’s caught her shoe now, in the 
edge of the mud-bed — didn’t only skate it 
along the brink. Be me gran’mother’s ghost ! it 
will be a pretty tug-o’-war, to get her off. 
She’s fast, amidships! Tug will have to haul on 
her short — with a jumping rope! ” Barty, 
thrilling to his finger tips, curled a big body over 
the bowsprit, in an attempt to make out the cam- 
paign-plan of that indomitable tug-captain whose 
head and shoulders emerged through an open 
panel of his pilot-house, as he cracked out orders, 
right and left, to cope with the distracting situ- 
ation ! 

“ He may have to back snug up to us, to get 
enough heaving purchase on her to h’ist her 
out o’ the mud-gully ! ” ran on the experienced 
Irishman, explaining, at the top of his voice, to 
two red and gasping boys, who hung on his words 
— speechless. 


188 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ On either side the passage, here, the mud 
is scooped out into gullies : of course, the keel isn’t 
‘ bottomed ’ in one — only stuck, like a knife, in 
the edge! The Cap’ is backing up a bit nearer, 
going to haul on her with a short rope — a jerky 
strain ! ” Bartholomew hitched his broad shoul- 
ders, in whetted anxiety over forthcoming tug-of- 
war between “ hauling ” steam-power and river- 
ooze, contesting for that prize of the newly 
launched hull. 

“ S-ee — s-see ! the water boil under the tug,” 
hissed Oakley, excitement “ boiling ” in his voice. 

The Latin School boy’s face had grown a little 
pale with strength of feeling! After the bril- 
liantly fair-and-easy launching, it would seem an 
ignoble collapse if the Richard A. Gage , that 
slick bit of wood, were to be grounded in 
river-mud for the next half-dozen hours, until 
there was a chance for the high tide to float her 
again — with the assistance of a tug, or two! 
The boy’s fingers shook, as they caught at his de- 
rided straw headgear, to prevent its careering off 
again, on windy wings ! 

“ Why, then ! the curses o’ Doneraile on it — 
for mud : if it’s not the hoodoo ? ” rumbled 
Barty, the anxious glitter of his eye, polished by 
an irresistible touch of comicality. “ Tear an’ 
ages ! if there was a basket of eggs under that tug 


A PARTING HAWSER 


189 


— now — wouldn’t she scramble ’em ? ” pointing 
to the threshing screw of the backing steamer, as 
it churned the water to miry yeast. 

Suddenly, his voice rang out in a shrill neigh : 
“ Stand clear o’ that line — boys — there’s a 
jumping strain on it!” pointing to the six- 
inch towrope, stretched, like taut steel, across 
twenty feet of bow-deck, from windlass-barrel to 
port hawse-pipe — strained medium in the tre- 
mendous struggle between mechanism and mud! 

“ Get aft there — abaft the windlass — over tp 
starboard ! ” to Gage, who was on the port side. 
“ Stand clear , I say!” gesticulating fiercely. 
“ Line might part : there’s a jumping strain — ” 
Simultaneously, the tug, having relaxed its 
giant-energies for quarter-of-a-minute, hauled 
in a spasm of jerks on the grounded boat! The 
dark hawser relaxed shudderingly — stiffened 
out, “ like a live thing ! ” 

In the zinc hawse-pipe, pop! a shot rever- 
berated as if ’twere the porthole of some warring 
battleship. 

Oak had a blood-curdling vision of a rearing 
fag-end of parted towrope — parted, with that 
snapping report, in the echoing hawse-pipe — 
streaking between him and the October sun ! Of 
its running amuck, in elastic recoil amid the 
little group in the bow-nest who had not even 


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FROM KEEL TO KITE 


time to cower — like deadly bolo-knife of some 
maddened Philippine Islander — but more swift 
to cut down any hapless individual found in its 
path, as it hurled backward, wild and straight, 
for a distance of some twenty-six feet! 

The air was filled with a poisonous hiss, when 
it picked off a derided straw hat , abaft the white 
windlass — like brown snake capturing a pigeon ! 

It came back “ pretty tame ” — a gyrating ser- 
pent — sucking, as it seemed, the last drop of 
blood from a beholder’s heart ! 

For — tame — it yet whirled threateningly 
above a prostrate, huddled body in the shadow of 
the new windlass, with arms wrapped round its 
head, like an Easterner at prayer — body of the 
schoolboy, from whose brain-pan that flouted 
straw hat had been ferociously snatched ! 


CHAPTER XIII 


HAULED OFF 

B EFORE that tamed hawser-end had ceased 
its elastic gyrations on the port side of the 
windlass, two pairs of hands were busy 
over the prostrate Latin School boy; they be- 
longed to Oakley and the big Irishman ! 

If a northeasterly “ snorter ” could be per- 
sonified, the grey gust might wear Barty’s face 
at that moment, in its elemental wildness, while 
the fisherman’s strong hands, used to cope with 
dire situations — untrembling, but looking as if 
circulation were held up among clumpy veins on 
the backs of them — whisked “ Greengage ” over 
on his back. 

“Saints be praised!” he ejaculated! with the 
hiss of a combing sea in his voice. “ S-saints be 
praised ! it — it never grazed him — only ripped 
off the hat.” 

“Are you s-sure !” Waves were breaking 
within Oakley, too ; he had the feeling of rocking 
on the edge of a planet, suddenly smitten dead, 

191 


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FROM KEEL TO KITE 


apparently — but into which a little life and mo- 
tion were beginning to creep back. “ Are — are 
you certain that he — he — ” 

“ That he’s alive an’ kicking ? ’Deed faith ! 
I am — as much alive as you or I — at this 
blessed minute,” Barty passed a hand, soft as a 
mother’s, for all its fisherman’s knots, over the 
victim’s forehead and scalp. “ Sure it’s only 
‘ foxing ’ he is ! ” with an hysterical laugh. 
“ Look at the color of him ! ” the laughter was 
compounded of snort and sob, as the Tipperary 
man swept Gage to his feet, supporting his shoul- 
ders within the curve of a mighty arm. 

“ Why, then ! was it ‘ shot with a blank cart- 
ridge ’ ye were ? ” he inquired in the breaking 
gaiety of intense relief ; “ or were ye only ‘ fox- 
ing ? ’ I guess, that wild rope-end didn’t come 
within an inch of your skull, at all, just landed 
the hat one on the brim an’ whisked it over- 
board — joy go with it ! ” 

“ Joy — joy go with — it!” echoed the half- 
stunned boy, who had been accused of “ foxily ” 
pretending by the reviving breeze of the Irish- 
man’s banter. “ Was — wasn’t it a — ripper? ” 
shudderingly, alluding to the wild hawser-end. 
“ It went for my head ; my hat got in the way ! ” 
There was a rifty clearing in the dazed vacancy of 
a school-boy’s face, as he tried to stiffen up 


HAULED OFF 


193 


and chuckle. “ Almost knocked me over back- 
ward ; I — I threw myself on my face — think- 
ing it might come for me again ! ” 

“ Heaven forgive me, for poking fun at anny 
man’s straw hat ! ” gurgled Barty, with a “ tail- 
end wink ” at Oakley. 

He still supported Gage, having the air of 
humoring a victim, settling it in his mind that 
the wild rope-end had not really come within an 
inch of scalping the latter ; that the derided straw 
hat, now heading down-stream for distant sea — 
with its crown stove in — had not actually in- 
terposed to save the head it covered. 

“It — it’s sailing for Jericho now ! ” mur- 
mured Oak, paler than the robbed victim. “ Go- 
ing to try a life on the ocean wave ! ” in a shaky 
snatch of song, feeling as if speech had parted 
in a hawse-pipe within him, leaving its fag-end 
loosely gyrating. 

“ Well — well, the Cap has his work before 
him, still — to get her off ! ” suddenly spoke up 
Gage, beginning to mark time with his feet on 
the imprisoned deck, the first to turn attention 
from himself, as he braced up to his usual erect 
carriage, bespeaking military drill — determined 
not to allow the assumption that he had been shot 
with a “ blank cartridge.” 

At the same moment, the tug-captain’s voice 


194 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


was heard, anxiously hailing that held-up deck, 
still, trembling in the ague of rebound : 

“ That line do any harm your end, boys? ” 

“ Only ripped a fellow’s hat off — came with- 
in an inch of taking his few brains with it ! ” re- 
turned Barty, laying big, gentle finger upon a red 
mark on the victim’s forehead, scratched by elop- 
ing straw. “ It’s the sore head he’ll carry round 
for the remainder of the day, I’m thinking ! ” 
“You don’t mean to say so?” through the 
megaphone in startled accents. “ Parted in the 
hawse-pipe — did it? Glory! ’twill be the limit 
to haul her off, here! Passage so thunderation 
narrow, one can’t get a chance to swing her! 
I’ll drop round astern o’ ye ; begin all over again ; 
don’t want to part another twenty-dollar line on 
her!” 

Which the doughty sea-lord proceeded to do — 
begin all over again with patience that beat 
Bruce’s spider hollow — while those on the mud- 
prisoned hull, her owner, her helmsman — stand- 
ing at attention, ready to heave up the new cast 
iron wheel, at the first thrill of forward motion — 
her anxious pleasure party, all, stood watching, 
with hearts in their mouths ! 

“ Never saw a man who could hold himself to- 
gether better than that tug-captain ! ” mused 
Barty aloud. “ There are some that would be 


HAULED OFF 


195 


streaking the air with their language, at this 
minute ; he don’t waste himself in fireworks ! ” 

“ Do you think he’ll be able to haul her off 
astern?” panted Oakley and Gage, in the same 
hot breath. 

“ Faith! I don’t know. Tide’s gettin’ away 
from us, already. But, if there’s a tug on the 
North Shore that could get her off, it’s the 
Minna ” pointing to red-lettered name crossing 
the towboat’s bows, as the latter — on her six 
inches of baby keel — crept round through sil- 
very shallows, until she was astern of her im- 
prisoned “ tow ! ” 

“ By the mighty Saint Paddy ! now, comes the 
tug o’ war,” gurgled Barty, moistening his lips, 
as he stepped aft a little, with all an Irishman’s 
keen delight in a shindy — albeit one of the fight- 
ing factors was only primal river-mud. “ See, 
boys,” he gasped to the youthful pair, still tag- 
ging after him. “ See the steam throb in her — 
the creature ! ” 

He jerked a big thumb toward the tugboat, 
astern, which had put another six-inch hawser 
aboard the imprisoned boat, made fast aft to a 
“ bitthead ” near the shiny wheel, and was haul- 
ing on it in a renewed spasm of jerks, trembling 
like a “ vibrant shell ” with jumping forces that 
animated her. 


196 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Faith! she’s for all the world, like a man 
trying to haul a cow out of a bog, be the tail,” 
laughed Barty, his broad shoulders working in 
joint excitement. “ Tear an’ ages! but that 
brings her. Did — didn’t ye feel a little taste of 
a stir in her then, boys ? ” breathlessly. 

“ We did! We did!” jubilantly bellowed his 
satellites, Gage and Oakley. “ Hurrah ! that 
brings her: that brings her — with a jerk! ” their 
triumphant eyes glued to the tugboat, whose 
screw propeller — that most ingenious piece of 
mechanism — threshed the shoal eddies, like feet 
of some convulsed water bird. 

“ Hi ! Hi ! That frees her ” chortled Gage, 
forgetting his scratched forehead, aching from 
the shock. 

“ I said there wasn’t mud enough in the river- 
bed, to faze the Cap’ ! ” chortled Oakley. 

“The Minna ain’t any old scow ; she can tug ! ” 
from Barty. “ See her throw the water to the 
right — sunward — as she goes for’ard, boys? 
To the left she flings it, backing! Sure, it’s the 
living miracle — that little screw propeller of 
hers!” 

Amid such encomiums, echoed on all sides, the 
victorious Minna crept ahead; the towing haw- 
ser was shifted again forward, to port-barrel 
of the white windlass. And in safety, without 


HAULED OFF 


197 


any more “ bumping hot grounders,” tugboat 
and “ tow ” crept through windings of the 
“ foxy ” passage, until the pine-capped point was 
passed — with it, the nastiest place on a difficult 
river ! 

Presently, another fair headland loomed up, 
crowned with white signal station, from which 
a fog-horn blew off three cheers for the new boat, 
acknowledged by a triumphant tug, while the 
ensign, the hull’s only decoration, now — own- 
er’s burgee and wreath having been taken down 
— proudly shook its starry folds, astern ! 

Historic island after island glided by. And 
now she “ fared forth ” into Ipswich Bay, with 
lots of sea-room and watery bottom, under her, 
skirting graphic headlands of Cape Ann — where, 
once in a while, an engine-house from hill or 
gorge of some noble granite quarry, would sa- 
lute her, again, as she waddled past, in wake of 
the feathered Minna. 

“ See how she rises in the water, as she gets 
well out into the bay ! ” remarked Barty, calling 
Oakley’s attention to the fact. “ Has more free- 
board than when she started ! ” pointing to the 
new hull’s side between water-line and gunwale. 
“ That’s because sea-water is heavier — weighs 
more to the cubic foot than river- water ! 

“ Faith! it’s the other way round with me; I’ve 


198 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


lost weight since I started; I’m hungry enough 
to nibble old ‘ junk,’ ” mournfully. 

“ Here’s the same ! ” echoed Gage. “ At least, 
I’m getting there.” 

“ Say ! boys, don’t you want to go below, an’ 
‘ have a bite ? ’ ” inquired an emissary of the 
owners, cruising up to the trio, at this most op- 
portune moment. 

“ I guess, we do, Johnny boy — an’ more 
power to your elbow ! ” laughed Bartholomew, 
heading for the forecastle companionway, down 
which Oakley had dropped, some seventeen hours 
before, “ clean forspent ! ” 

Those shining lockers which had tantalized a 
starving lad at sun-up, were still empty, but the 
triangular table groaned under a welcoming 
deluge of crackers, golden reef of cheese and 
miniature bulkhead of pressed beef. 

“ Come along, boys ! Eat hearty, and give 
the boat a good name!” invited Barty, jovially 
doing the honors. “ H’ist the jumbo on that 
cheese, Oakie ! ” And the golden reef was set 
sailing his way. 

“This is bully! We’re having the first 
mug-up, aboard the new vessel ! ” crowed Oakley. 
“ What wouldn’t I have given this morning for 
a sight of such a ‘ grub pile ? ’ And who’d have 
thought we’d be hungry so soon again, Gagie, 


HAULED OFF 


199 


after that ‘ swell ’ breakfast? But my appetite’s 
coming, at a clip ! ” 

“ Mine, too ! ” chuckled the “ Greengage ” 
boy. “ It’s all the more fun for being 4 shy ’ on 
knives an’ forks ! ” 

“ Shy on knives an’ forks, as well as spars 
an’ sails, on her first towed trip ! ” struck in Barty. 
“ It’s in swaddling-clothes she is yet — the new 
boat! This is a sort of amachure christening 
feast, boys ! ” and he helped himself to a huge 
slice of spiced beef, starting to hum complacently 
— while rocking on the cradle-edge of a new 
bunk : 

“Shure! ’twas down in the town, Tipperary, 

Where they’re so airy — an’ so conthrairy, 

They kicked up a rousing ‘ vagary/ 

When they christened sweet Dan-ny — the boy ! ” 

“ Oh ! go on, Bart, rip her out ! Let her go ! 
Drive her ! Drive her, fore an’ aft ! ” pleaded 
two boys’ voices, plugged with cracker and beef. 

And Barty, rocking rhythmically, proceeded to 
“ drive ” that christening feast, which beat nup- 
tial banquet of the Chinese Emperor “ all to fits,” 
through details of its wonderful menu — stern 
end, first, so to speak : 

“ There was sweetmeats imported from Havre 
And from Java — an’ from Guava 
In the foremasted ship — the Minarva 
That sailed from beyant Hindoshtan! 


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FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“They had all sorts o’ tea: they had Oolong 
And they had Souchong — an’ they had Ding-dong, 

An’ Boulong’ an’ Toulong’ an’ Zoolong’, 

An’ tay that was growed in Japan!” 

“ Bedad ! I wouldn’t object to a jorum of that 
same 4 tay,’ meself, just now; I’ve a throat dry as 
a zinc hawse-pipe,” yearned the singer. “ Heave 
that water-jar on deck, Oakie boy! Annything 
handy — to drink out of ? ” 

“ Covers of beef tins, garnished with la- 
bels!” laughed Gage; and after some further 
items of that Tipperary menu had been mentioned 
— including “ Roman punch, frozen up in snow- 
balls, and sparrow-grass ” — a bright idea got 
into the Latin School boy. 

“ I say ! we ought to drink the vessel’s health,” 
he proposed. 

“In water — is it? Well, that’s all right for 
me; I’ve been on the water-wagon, meself, since 
I joined the Father Matthew boys, up in Bos- 
ton ! ” The clearness of Barty’s zestful blue eye, 
polish on his tan, from cheek to shoe-leather, 
together with a well-tailored appearance, denied 
the supposition that he had ever jolted along on 
any more disreputable “ wagon ! ” Hilariously 
he filled the hollow squares of tin, garnished with 
beefy lettering on the outside. 

“ An’, sure, if you swallow the labels, too. 


HAULED OFF 


201 


’twill only color the good wishes ! ” he suggested 
suavely. “ Well, Gagie boy, it’s up to you : give 
us the health of the vessel (sure, ’tis a kind of a 
family boat, she is, annyhow, like the little old 
ark, of old), with a touch of Latin School — 
what-d’ye-call-it — ” 

“ Declamation ! ” humbly suggested the youth- 
ful toastmaster. 

“ ‘ Declamation ! ’ that’s a good word, too ; it 
stuck in my crop! Well — swing ahead with 
your de-declaiming ! H’ist the mains’l, boy — 
an’ ' give her sheet! } ” in rollicking encourage- 
ment. 

And Gage, trying to follow up the nautical 
figure — get what sail he could on his declama- 
tory powers — began with an oratorical sweep of 
the arm : 

“ Here — here’s to the Richard A. Gage: long 
may she wave! (Blest, if I can think of any- 
thing else, to say!) May she go ‘kiting’ past 
every blowing old tramp steamer, bound her way, 
an’ — and — ” 

“ May her skipper be a ‘ king-pin ’ in the fleet, 
and hang on to his sail longer than any of ’em, 
when she’s running for market ! ” struck in Oak- 
ley — with red-lettered tin clinking jubilantly 
against his neighbor’s. 

“ May — may neither rip nor shoal get the bet- 


202 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ter of her : may the light o’ Heaven shine on her 
— an’ her shadow never grow less ! ” capped the 
Irishman, half in whimsy, half in earnest. 
“ Long life to her, annyhow : to you, too, boys ! 
And here’s hoping you’ll both be on deck — some 
fine day — to see her go like a greased pig, as she 
jumps the seas! ” 

“ Aye — aye — to that ! Aye ! aye ! ” Rude 
tins clashed, like cymbals, as a hilarious trio 
toasted the maiden vessel, in the water, her native 
element ! 


CHAPTER XIV 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 

T HE latter half of that four-hour trip on 
the sparless hull was to the boys a foamy 
medley of white deck reeking with its 
first wetting down, and of giddy “ boat ” again 
waltzing on her ear, or rioting, like a wind- 
caught flower-basket, amid acres of pale foam- 
blossoms strewn over a choppy sea! 

“ Great guns ! it’s beginning to blow like sixty ; 
this sou’westerly breeze is giving us a little taste 
of what a fisherman would call a hard, short 
sea ; she’s a bit wet as it is,” joyed Oakley, revel- 
ing in the bluster. “ Feeling out of the game — 
eh, Gagie?” solicitously, as his companion 
propped an aching head, covered with a cloth 
cap loaned by a deck hand on the tug against a 
spoke of the white windlass. 

“ ‘ Out of the game ? ’ guess not ! Only, as if 
there was a sort of general round-up inside of 
a fellow ! ” protested the threatened victim of that 
parted hawser. “ Look at the girls ; they’re 
‘ making bad weather of it ! ’ ” pityingly. 

203 


204 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Yes ; I guess, Mr. Harvey had hard work to 
keep them from poking their noses for’ard, when 
she dragged her shoe in the mud, that time — 
and the hawser went pop ! ” muttered his friend. 
“ They’re deep in the misery, now,” with com- 
miserating chuckle. 

And young Rose, studying a wind-torn flock 
— ranged all in a row, like blizzard-caught birds, 
on the low white step of the quarter-deck — pres- 
ently strolled aft — a chivalry partly bred of 
long devotion to his best girls in the old prints, 
outbubbling shyness — to be at hand to steady 
some restless sufferer’s steps, or to fetch a lunch- 
eon from the now whirling banquet in the fore- 
castle for some one not too far gone to partake. 

Returning from such diving expeditions below, 
he would pop forth upon the deck stage, as he had 
hoped to do, this morning, when preparing to 
burst out on Mitch and Frenchy — literally 
coughed up by “ giddy footing of the hatches — ” 
hugging a bulging pocket, like a sea-robber ! 

“ Squall — O ! ” he would announce, with Vi- 
king laughter. “ Regular * cobbling cracker- 
storm,’ below! Beef on the shoals! Cheese 
hove down! Won’t there be a hot old time in 
that foc’s’le one o’ these days? ” 

“ You bet! there will, son, when cookie begins 
to ‘ mouse ’ his pots an’ kettles — and stow the 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


205 


grub,” returned Barty, coming to the succor of 
distressed maidenhood, too, proffering crackers 
and “ blarney ” in rival courses. 

“Aw now! just a little nibble, an' you’ll feel 
better ! ” he would protest to one of the storm- 
beaten birds who despaired of finding port again. 
“ What — not a whole slice o’ this tasty beef ! 
Sure! you wouldn’t be making a fool o’ your 
pretty little mouth with half-a-piece ? I couldn’t 
insult a mouse, by offering him that crumb o’ 
cheese — an’ you keeping up like a skipper’s 
wife! ” to another. “ Faith ” — piously, “ I wish 
/ had as little sin in me as you have appetite ! ” 
“Your sins will never sink you, Barty!” 
laughed Mr. Harvey, who knew the fisherman, 
of old. 

“ ’Deed faith ! I hope not, sir.” 

“ You’ll have one good deed to set against 
them anyhow : the girls are feeling better ! ” 
laughed Oakley under his breath. 

“ They’re beginning to think they’ll ‘ pull 
through — ’ the creatures ! ” affirmed the Irish- 
man. “ Sure, now ! where’s the use of thrying to 
stand on ceremony on an onaisy new deck, like 
this ; bedad ! you’d have only one crooked leg to 
stand upon — an’ that blown away ! ” 

“ Good ! Good ! ” crowed the boy. “ Corking 
‘bull!’ Gage, did ye hear — that !” And as 


206 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Gage staggered aft to be “ in it,” Oak seized the 
Irishman’s arm. 

“ Come along, Barty ! ” he proposed, feeling as 
if he had known the breezy Celt from the cradle. 
“ Let us steer her, outside Thatcher’s ! ” point- 
ing to the Island outpost, with twin-light tow- 
ers. “ It’s our wheel, to keep her along, eh ? ” 
jestingly, as if the wobbly boat, waddling like 
a refractory duck, at the end of her towrope, 
were already a live vessel, dependent on her own 
wings, sailing by the wind, with a free sheet. 

“ I’m with you, old son ! ” returned the Irish- 
man, pointing to brand-new steering apparatus. 
“ But first, let’s see how you can handle her alone : 
whether you can keep her bowsprit neatly pointed 
for the tug’s smokestack, not let her ‘ yaw ’ an’ 
roll across the towboat’s wake, with this choppy 
sea gettin’ off all its bagful o’ tricks on her, before 
she knows ary a trick of her own to meet it ? 

“ Sure, her deck is white as a hound’s tooth 
now,” supplemented the Irishman musingly. 
“ ’Twon’t be long so! She is getting her first 
little taste of a hard short sea ; if ’twasn’t for the 
tug ’twould roll her over, like a chip! They’re 
just playing tag with her,” nodding at the chunky 
foam-caps. 

“ Never mind; she’ll 'tag’ them some day, 
gurgled Oakley, feeling a wild old caper of sea- 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


207 


king blood in his veins, as he accepted the fish- 
erman’s challenge — borrowing oilcloth and sou’- 
wester from an outgoing helmsman — taking his 
place to “ weath’ard ” of the new wheel — his 
pulses kicking joyously! 

“ You’re doing a good job, lad, keeping her 
right steady in the wake,” commented Barty pres- 
ently, as he criticized proceedings, seated upon 
the “ house.” “ You’ve a quick eye an’ your 
nerve with you ! Take a nervous man, now ; he’d 
have that wheel down this way wan minit, that 
way the next,” Barty swayed in comic illustra- 
tion, “ till the double wake,” glancing behind 
him, “ would look like a conger eel having the 
convulsions ! ” with a roll of laughter. 

“ ’Twould be easier if she was a finished vessel 
an’ you were steering with the compass foreninst 
you in the binnacle on the cabin shelf ! ” he added 
presently ; “ even, though she might throw the 
water a little, put you up to your waist in grey 
swash from time to time ! ” 

“ She’s ‘ throwing the water,’ now, seems to 
me ! ” blew off the youthful helmsman hilariously. 
“ Shies ! wasn’t that a ripper ; soused me down, 
all over ! ” as the top of a sea flung its white cap 
at him, over the stern rail. 

“ Lord love ye ! child ; that’s only broken 
water, spray, not swash ! ” explained the fish- 


208 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


erman tolerantly. 44 Now, let’s see how Gage 
can handle her ? ” 

But with the new grasp on her wheel, the 
sparless boat did “ yaw ” from side to side — 
until Barty was moved to exclaim : 

“ Faith, the Richard A. may go, like a 4 greased 
pig ’ by-’n’-by, when she gets her spars in an’ the 
duck on her! But, be the hole in me coat — ” 
there wasn’t any — 44 she acts, now, more like the 
same little pig, bein’ dragged to a fair, with a 
rope on him, doing a roll an’ squat, at every 
step ! ” 

44 It’s a pity she can’t do the squeal, too ! ” mut- 
tered Gage. 44 She’s handicapped on that ! ” 

44 See those flat, brown slabs, over there ? ” sug- 
gested the fisherman, presently pointing to the 
broad rock terraces of Thatcher’s Island outpost, 
bared by the receding tide. 44 And the Londoner 
— grinning at us! My! it’s the murthering 
ledge, that Londoner,” shaking his head at the 
snowy beard of foam on sunken reef. 44 Sure, if 
’twasn’t for the little old twin lights, where 
would any vessel be ? ” with grateful glance at 
those lighthouse towers, whose steady golden 
eyes 44 sleeping now,” would, in future, so often 
light the new craft home. 

44 Where indeed ? ” gurgled Oakley. 44 Well ! 
we’ll be getting into smoother water, now — 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


209 


rounding Eastern Point into Gloucester harbor 
in another half-hour, or so ! ” 

And during the latter part of this towed trip, 
young Rose sat — silent, preoccupied — beside 
his schoolboy friend, his whole being swelling 
with hope or contracting with anxiety over one 
crucial question: “Would Uncle Ceeph have 
already sailed for Green Bank, before his nephew 
set foot on a Gloucester wharf ? What were the 
chances pro and con of that nephew’s ‘ jumping a 
berth ’ for Johnny Campbell’s Spot? ” 

Not that the lad was now keenly anxious to 
ship for a long trip: skippers’ sons rarely are! 
But, though outwardly restored to normal high 
spirits, he had still a lonely hollow at heart, de- 
manding more than friendship to fill it. There 
was a longing for one of his own kin to take, 
in a measure, his grandfather’s place. Above 
all, Oakley longed to hear his sea-faring uncle 
acknowledge in plain words that grandfather’s 
unimpeachable worth; how utterly incapable he 
was of lending that smoke-house fire “ a boost ” ! 

Barty, noticing a sober look on the keen boy- 
face, which had begun to interest him as much as 
that of his long-time friend and wordy adversary 
Greengage, came to anchor beside him, as the 
new boat was creeping up the inner harbor at the 
tail of her towrope, with Gloucester — its broad 


210 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


wharves and forests of masts soaring, spire-like, 
beside them — ahead ! 

“ Sure, I wouldn’t feel down-in-the-mouth over 
it, even if Capt’n Ceeph is bound out, already! ” 
the fisherman suggested. “ He’ll be back again, 
in a month or so, barring accidents; you’ll get 
a chance to go fishing with him, yet, he’ll give 
you all you want of it, too. He’s a stayer. Ever 
hear how his crew got the better of him once, 
when he wanted to fish a little longer — to put 
the cream on the trip — an’ they were heartbroke 
to get home, after bein’ three stormy months 
out?” 

“No!” returned the grandnephew, with wak- 
ing eye. 

“ Well, I’ll tell it to you, some day — not now, 
we’re nearly in port — an’ that’s a yarn to be 
got off, when men are swapping stories round a 
fo’c’s’le fire ! Sometime, when Gage an’ you make 
a summer trip to Georges, and I’m on the same 
vessel,” beaming imaginatively, “ then I’ll spring 
it on ye! Ye’ll find it hard to get taken out as 
passengers, though — two kids, with faces smooth 
as starched shirtfronts — most skippers will give 
you the icy nipper ! ” laughing scathingly. 

“Trust us to thaw it!” challenged Gage, his 
eyes on a homing Georgesman crossing the inner 
harbor, bowsprit to bowsprit with the new boat, 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


211 


her scarred broadside and grey cluttered deck in 
odd contrast to the “ hound’s tooth ” whiteness 
of the Gage's planks. 

“Well, boys! we’ve had more than a penny- 
worth o’ fun coming round on the new deck — 
for all that wild hawser-end ! ” murmured Barty, 
presently. “ An’ before I forget it, Gage, I’ve 
got a what-d’ye-call-it — souvenir — for you, 
warranted to bring your side out atop in the 
next League ball-game ! ” twinkling broadly, as he 
produced from his vest pocket two tiny fluted 
ovals of bone, white as coined snow. 

“ Pshaw, I know those, of old ! ” said Oakley, 
recognizing the fisherman’s talisman : the double- 
bone kernel of a codfish’s brain. 

“ Well ! here’re a pair for you, too,” volun- 
teered the donor. “ Keep ’em handy ; an’ if you 
don’t get a chanst to ship for Green Bank, now, 
you will for Georges — later on ! ” 

“If they’re so everlastingly lucky, I wonder 
they didn’t save the codfish that grew them from 
dying on a trawl-hook! ” propounded Gage, with 
skeptical titter. 

“ Why then ! will ye listen to the lawyer to be 
— choppin’ logic, already ? ” beamed the Irish- 
man. “ You ought to be down on the owners’ 
wharf, Monday afternoon, boys, to see the main- 
mast stepped in this one — ” his big tan shoe 


212 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


tapped the white deck — “ see her get her luck- 
money! Sure it’s the har-rd time she’ll have 
by-’n’-by, holding on to it ! ” 

“I’ll light down; directly school is out!” de- 
cided Gage. 

“ I’ll be on deck, if I can,” murmured Oakley. 

Just here Mr. Harvey, one of the said owners, 
beckoned to young Rose : “If you like to step 
over to our offices on the next wharf, you can 
telephone to Gray & Wonson’s, and find out 
about the Dorcas right away ! ” he suggested 
kindly. “ Hope to see you, again ; you stood by 
well coming round! ” with a smiling glance at a 
reviving bevy of girls. 

“ Guess I’ll stroll along with yez ! ” suggested 
Barty. “ I’d like to find out about the little old 
Dorcas , myself ! ” 

And the trio, having done their part in assist- 
ing the revived feminine element through a pre- 
cipitous scramble ashore, headed for the offices 
of Messrs. Harvey & Swan, catching wonderful 
framed picture-glimpses of the blue harbor they 
had just crossed — which one of them was too 
preoccupied to notice ! 

Oakley was gnawed now by pains of suspense, 
feeling, as he dumbly acknowledged, the longing 
of a “ little kid ” to be with his uncle; to have the 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


213 


warm tie of relationship wrapped around him, 
again, after solitary weeks ! 

He was breathing like a fish on the hook, with 
his mouth “ slatting open,” as Barty put it, by 
the time they reached wide premises of the 
famous ship-owning and fish-curing firm, of 
which Mr. Justin Harvey was the mainstay. 

Bartholomew remained below, chatting with an 
acquaintance, amid barrels of pickle, peopled with 
iridescent mackerel and herring, floating like 
birds' nests in a Chinaman’s soup, while two boys 
breathlessly ascended narrow stairs, which the 
fish themselves might have used as ladder, judg- 
ing by the spangling scales which decorated it ! 

In answer to an eager request a clerk took 
down the telephone receiver, gave a number: 
“ Hello! Gray & Wonson’s — Dorcas Bliss gone 
out yet ? What’s that ; can’t quite get you ! ” 
while a boy’s breath was held up in his pickled 
throat. “ Oh, ‘ yesterday noon, at high water ’ ? 
Thank you ! ” The receiver was slapped up. 

(( Dorcas Bliss sailed yesterday noon, at high 
water ! ” 

And two crestfallen lads, turning with a word 
of thanks, bolted down the spangled stairway; 
Oakley so blinded by that lonely hollow within 
that he would have landed in one of the iri- 


214 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


descent barrels, but for Gage’s hand plucking at 
him ! 

“ Here — hold on ; you don’t want to stay in 
pickle till she gets in again ? ” muttered the 
schoolboy. “ 4 Cheer up, Sam ! ’ Your uncle 
will be ashore again in a month or six weeks. 
What are you going to do, now? Better come 
back up to Essex with me ! I guess they can find 
you something to do in the shipyard: never you 
mind, I’ll work it,” as his companion hung back, 
with doubting gesture. 

Greengage was silently to “ work it,” even if 
he had to tell the story of that foggy trestle half- 
a-dozen times over, with all the touches of Latin 
School oratory which he had failed to get in, 
when proposing a vessel’s health. 

“ Of course, you might find work that you’d 
like better right here, in Gloucester, though ? ” he 
propounded as an after thought. “ A softer 
snap, perhaps ! ” cheerily. 

44 Possibly ! I might get a position as bell- 
boy or — or night clerk — in an hotel; I’d 
have the most 4 pull ’ in that direction ! ” Oak 
spoke stammeringly, and as if to himself, licking 
lips, blistered by disappointment. 44 Or as needle- 
shover, in one of the big sail-lofts?” doubtfully. 

But, in the selfsame breath, there came to him, 
again, that vision of a 44 shipyard ladder,” by 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


215 


which he had pictured a fellow, with his ambi- 
tions, climbing! Pictured him gaining some 
rudimentary knowledge of a vessel's construction, 
while contributing his mite of labor towards 
building her! 

Vision, too, of that mould-loft across the 
river, where it seemed, as though some crumbs 
of architectural knowledge might be picked up! 
Like a Paradise, over Jordan, it loomed before 
his excited imagination! 

“ Well, I guess I’ll never shoot the owl, if 
I turn aside to hunt jack-rabbits!" gritted the 
would-be naval architect — half-laughingly — be- 
hind his teeth, with the same stiffening of back- 
bone which had come to him in that whitewashed 
den, giving up the idea of suspending the chase 
after a career on which he had embarked, for an 
“ easier snap," at present ! 

“ You're the stuff; you’ll make a touch-down 
— • yet ! " muttered Gage, with a fiendish pinch, 
whose approval might be measured by its fierce- 
ness: and the pair stepped forth to where Barty 
stood, waiting for them. 

“ Gone; has she ? " queried the Irishman. 
“ Well ! Capt’n Ceeph don’t let grass grow under 
his feet, once he's made up his mind to a start! 
Never mind; hold on to your lucky stones, and 
you’ll get your opportunity, some day ! " 


216 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


As the trio threaded their way along the 
waterfront, spelling out stanza after stanza, in the 
mighty poem of the Gloucester wharves, those 
tiny bone talismans did, it seemed, attract luck 
their way, in shape of a laughable incident 
against which the rawest disappointment could 
not be proof ! 

Oakley got his coveted chance to “jump a 
berth! ” 

Barty had been pointing out to his companions 
the traveling “ fish railway,” connecting great 
flakeyards, where a wheelbarrow freighted with 
half-cured codfish, was hoisted automatically that 
the fish might be dried on the house tops — or 
broad second-story area. The explorers had 
come out on another wharf, beside which nestled 
vessels, packed two and two, like sardines, when 
Gage suddenly hove to, muttering : 

“ What on earth is that fellow getting off ? 
What yarn is he spinning ? ” He pointed to a 
bunch of waterfront loungers, among whom a 
somewhat battered-looking individual, gesticulat- 
ing plaintively, was narrating some tragic hap- 
pening, with sing-song refrain: 

“ An’ the tar leaked through her for’ard seams 
— loosened, they was, I tell ye, by the little taste 
o’ dirty weather we had, off the Highlands three 
nights ago! The tar leaked down through into 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


217 


fo’c’s’le bunks : oh-h , what a mess! ” drearily. 
“ It got into the coal — into the grub ! Oh-h, 
what a mess ! ” sighing like a northeasterly 
“ snorter.” “ Skipper — he can’t get any one 
to go in her : oh, what a mess! ” 

“ ‘ Oh-h, what a mess! ’ ” chanted the water- 
front, in general, the trio of newcomers included, 
“ laughing fit to bust ! ” as Barty phrased it. 
“ Faith ! he’s got that so pat he must have been 
saying it over, night long, in his sleep,” chuckled 
the Irishman, edging nearer, with his compan- 
ions. 

At their advent, the story-teller looked up: a 
streak of hope crossed his face; he pounced on 
Barty, sizing him up, at once as a “ man of the 
sea!” 

“ Say — hullo ! are you looking for a berth 
aboard a vessel ? ” 

“ Depends on what kind of an old hooker she 
is ! ” parried Bartholomew, tipping his com- 
panions the furtive wink. “ If it’s that tarry old 
‘ settler,’ there,” nodding towards a decrepit- 
looking two-master, “ I’d as soon put to sea in 
my coffin ; I guess, she must be the one Columbus 
came over in ! ” Barty caressed his chin reflec- 
tively. “ Annyhow, she’s fifty years old, if she’s 
a day, tell us what happened to her — though?” 
ingratiatingly. 


218 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


But the skipper’s jackal, trying to nose out a 
crew along the waterfront, had turned upon 
Oakley, laden with overcoat and shabby 
“ grip — ” not the white duck bag of the out- 
bound fisherman, to be sure — but, just now, 
wearing a sort of “ lost foal,” left-over expres- 
sion. 

“Young man!” he adjured him piteously, 
“ do you want to take a pierhead jump aboard 
a vessel — help work her round to Philadelphia ? 
Captain’ll make it worth your while — he will ! ” 

“Now — now's your chance, Oak, to chuck 
your bag and jump a berth! You’ll never get 
such another ! ” argued Gage, nudging his 
friend, hardly able to breathe for smothered 
laughter. 

Loungers on the wharfhead were rocking in a 
pitiless gale of mirth. 

“ Let’s hear why you’re up against it? ” fenced 
Oakley in turn. “ Crew desert her ? ” The 
blues of disappointment were all blown out to sea 
now! 

“We were coming round from Portland,” 
fragmentary wailed the luckless seaman, “ with 
a cargo of pitch-tar ; dozen barrels lashed on her 
for’ard deck! Three nights ago, roundin’ Cape 
Cod, it breezed up a little! Off the Highlands, 
she pelted about some: five of the barrels rolled 


AT THE NEW WHEEL 


219 


loose, bumped into each other — stove in: Oh-h, 
what a — mess ! 

“ Tar leaked through into the foe Vie, into the 
bunks — into the coal ! Into the grub ! ” with 
hands piteously upflung. “ Oh-h, what a mess!, ” 

“ Oh ! what a mess,” chanted the trio drolly 
again, coming in on the weird refrain, mouths 
dropping open, nostrils aching and plugged, as 
with smoke, by their stifled laughter. 

“ My stars ! what a berth for ‘ Frenchy ! ’ He 
could grease his little dog's nose, till crack o' 
doom ! ” squealed Gage enviously. 

“ Captain wouldn’t put in to Provincetown,” 
rumbled on the luckless mariner ; “ afraid the 
three men he had aboard to work her, with 
cook an’ me, would give him the slip; they did 
here — sneaked ashore early this morning; 
‘ skulked ’ the job of cleaning her up! ” 

“ Don’t know as I blame ’em very much ! 
Guess, you’ll have to do the press-gang act, to 
corral a crew ! I’m sorry for you ! ” mut- 
tered Barty, the quick sympathies of a Celt 
struggling with the irresistibly comic element in 
the “ messy ” recital. “ Say, boys, there’ll be a 
car for Essex in a couple o’ minutes — only, run 
every hour, now ! ” 

And the three made a bolt for Main Street — 
Oakley, politely declining the tarry berth offered 


220 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


to him, with its task of cleaning up the sieve-like 
old coaster — scandalizing respectable citizens by 
jogging elbows with rollicking cries of “ Oh-h, 
what a mess ! ” 

“ Guess, you boys will have that for a ‘ cant- 
word/ now — till crack o’ doom!” challenged 
the Irishman. 

“ Shure an’ we will, Barty ! ” let fly Green- 
gage, while the three hurled themselves at a car. 

Throughout the hour’s ride to Essex boyish 
tongues played battledore and shuttlecock with 
that “ cant-word,” boyish imaginations dreaming 
not of another “ pitchy mess,” ahead, which 
might tar and feather their spontaneous friend- 
ship — end it in a ludicrous collapse! 


CHAPTER XV 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 

T HOSE “ lucky stones ” jingled, now and 
again, like silver coins in Oakley’s 
pocket when on the following Monday 
morning, bright and early, he entered the ship- 
yard — where he had before been surprised as a 
trespasser — in search of work that would sup- 
port him until the Dorcas Bliss and her skipper 
should be in port, again! 

And, despite the fact that a boy had no faith 
in the talismanic properties of those bits of bone, 
which had not saved the codfish that grew 
them from snaring trawl-hook, nevertheless, 
their shrill rattle gladdened him, as symbolic of 
new friendships : of Greengage and Barty — 
of a trip on giddy deck, white as a hound’s 
tooth — which had linked the three together ! 

He had a pretty shrewd idea that if a fellow 
relied on “ luck,” he would find himself, when 
pelted by life’s strong waves, with, as the Irish- 
man put it, “ only one crooked leg to stand upon 
— and that blown away ! ” 

221 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


222 

But, with laughing river-breeze tickling his 
spirits, and October’s hardy beauty rioting over 
marshland and wood, with dull odor of shipyard 
lumber — green stock from which “ corking ” 
vessels are built — in his nostrils, Oakley had a 
strong feeling that the elements compounding so- 
called luck — happy success — are well-nigh all- 
powerful in the world! He felt those factors 
thrilling in him, this morning, knew, without 
analyzing, that they were trust in God and self 
— a conscience that was no more of a “ hoodoo ” 
than his boyish digestion — a warm heart for 
friends and fun! 

With the red fortresses of those distant woods, 
which had tried to imprison him once, waving 
banners of truce, with sunlight and river breeze 
rippling amid beach-grass and unkempt black 
grass on the water’s edge calling to him, two 
words bubbled up, responsive, from some clear 
well of the boy’s being : “ Our Father! ” 

A boyish heart was running the whole gamut 
of gladness in its morning-song of faith and 
hope, as Oak stepped diffidently over the matted 
shavings which blistered feet had pressed three 
nights before! 

Oaken shavings, his namesakes, pared by 
the smoothing plane from naked rib or yellow 
broadside of the raw fleet looming before him — 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 223 

each embryo vessel shored up, amid temporary 
framework of staging on the stocks, or building 
blocks, slanting toward the river, her bed until 
the time of launching ! 

Within the picket line of shoring props, sup- 
porting one unpainted hull, whose frame tim- 
bers were already covered with the outer skin, 
or planking, and ceiling, or inner planking — 
making a thickness of fourteen inches, through 
bone and flesh, as it were, to resist the sea’s at- 
tack — a busy calker was at work. The boy 
hove to, watching the plugging proceedings ! 

With small heating apparatus and flaxen wig 
of oakum on the ground beside him, calking iron 
in hand, the expert at filling work, was tightening 
seams of the new hull by plugging those almost 
invisible chinks with wavy hempen fibre — care- 
fully as a dentist would fill a tooth ! 

“ I guess, old Neptune will have to do some 
big stunts, to make her * spit ’ that oakum ! ” 
laughed the boy, admiring the extreme preci- 
sion of this calking process. “ Looks like a 
doll’s wig, doesn’t it ? ” stroking the flaxen mop 
on its carpet of shavings — “ or like the fair 
wig that ‘ Prudence ’ sports, when she’s scowling 
at ‘ Wisdom ’ in the old print ! ” he added, with 
a reminiscent tingle, longing for a sight of 
those familiar household goddesses, again! 




FROM KEEL TO KITE 


It would have been well, indeed, had rosy 
Fortitude — patiently waiting to make a touch- 
down with that ball of fate — been at hand dur- 
ing the next quarter of an hour, to throw her 
youthful admirer an encouraging smile, while he 
wrestled with the setting up of his shipyard lad- 
der, and against a dizzy, toppling sensation at 
finding its bottom rung so very near the ground ! 

“ There’s Mr. Damon , now, if you want to 
speak with him! ” presently suggested the calker, 
to whom Oakley had put a question concerning 
the whereabouts of the shipyard captain. And 
the boy, feeling in sudden trepidation, as if some 
inner hand were calking the roots of his tongue 
with hot iron, respectfully addressed the ship- 
builder, asking whether work could be found for 
him in any corner of the crowded yard? 

“ Suppose — suppose he gives me the — icy 
mitt f ” quaked a youthful heart, meanwhile, in 
droll agitation, its owner being very familiar with 
“ icy mitts,” since long-past days of midwinter 
dory fishing, with his grandfather. 

There was no ice in evidence, however; nor 
did the shipyard captain show any inclination to 
handle the request with a parrying mitten; he 
came to the point favorably — and at once. 

“ I’d like to help you ! ” he said, his eyes — a 
good inch higher than those of any other man 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


225 


in the yard, which had been looking off down 
the river, seaward, as if following future for- 
tunes of vessels built under his supervision — 
dropping to the applicant’s face, with tolerant 
smile. “ But the thing is, what can we find for 
you to do? You’re pretty young and ‘green,’ 
for a ship-carpenter. And we don’t take on 
boys as apprentices nowadays, to learn the ship- 
building business ; dropped that, some years 
ago ! ” 

Oak’s inner mercury “ dropped,” too — flirted 
around zero! 

“ Besides, from what I gather — what young 
Gage says — ” evidently the schoolboy had been 
getting at Mr. Damon’s tall ear — “your object 
is not to learn the building business, either, ex- 
actly, but to find work in a shipyard, in order to 
scrape acquaintance with vessels, as it were, with 
some hope of learning to design them — ‘ getting 
onto the architect’s trick ’ — by-and-by : to gain 
a knowledge of the ‘ practical shipbuilding ’ 
which must form part of every naval architect’s 
education, whether he picks it up in the lecture 
room or building yard — eh ? ” 

The would-be architect nodded, with glisten- 
ing eyes: here was his groping purpose, made 
clear to himself! 

“ Well, honestly,” there was a twinkle between 


226 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the tall shipbuilder’s eyelids, “ honestly, lad, I’m 
afraid all the education you’ll get here will be 
hard work: hard work and stupidity go a long 
way toward the building of vessels — so folks 
say! ” jestingly. 

But at the inadvertent quiver of a boyish chin, 
Mr. Damon changed his tone; perhaps, Green- 
gage had told the story of that foggy trestle over 
again, with Latin School “ declamation,” ere de- 
parting for his ancient Alma Mater; perhaps, 
the tall “ builder ” cast a glance backward to re- 
cent launching of the Richard A. Gage — to a 
child on her deck, and an absent partner ! “Of 
course, there’s something in your idea ! ” he went 
on kindly. “ Working round the yard, here, 
you could pick up some of the knowledge you’re 
after, by keeping eyes and ears wide open — 
’twould depend on yourself! I guess, you do 
keep all your faculties on deck, though; you 
don’t look like a fellow who had — ‘ ever 
crept ! ’ ” laughingly. 

The steely twinkle between those narrowed 
eyelids was slanting down to the applicant’s face, 
“ quizzing features,” and expression. 

“ While handling a saw on a vessel’s side, 
you’d glean some idea of the hundred-and-one 
details of structure which go to make her water- 
tight,” remarked the builder. 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


m 

“ After you get on to more advanced work in 
the shipyard, you’d pick up items about the bend- 
ing and beveling of her frames, as you helped 
to set them up, or about joining lengths of 
timber together in a keel! He makes the best 
architect who knows every beam and stringer of 
a vessel — as a surgeon knows bone and sinew of 
his patient — loves her, too ! ” 

It began to dawn upon Oakley that the ship- 
yard captain was giving favorable attention to 
'his humble affairs! 

“ And in the mould-loft, across the river 
(you’d have plenty of time to * loaf ’ and study, 
there, on rainy days), you could see how a ves- 
sel is laid off, the architect’s plans faired up, 
and her moulds gotten out! Altogether, I don’t 
think your idea is such a bad one for a fellow 
who’s willing to take the rocky road, rather than 
not get there at all! Well! I’ll see what the 
yard foreman has to say — whether he thinks 
we can find something for you to do? 

“ Hullo, Maurice ! ” Mr. Damon hailed the 
foreman shipwright, in the act of passing. “ Just 
step here a minute, will you? D’you suppose 
we could utilize green stock of this kind in the 
yard — eh ? ” with a slight scintillation in Oak- 
ley’s direction. 

The foreman, a connoisseur on oaken “ green 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


stock ” of another variety, ran a keen glance over 
the human specimen! 

“ We might set him to work passing up hods 
o’ tre’nails to the ship-carpenters, aloft on the 
staging — ’twould save time — we’re pretty busy, 
just now!” he suggested, turning a complacent 
eye toward eleven vessels on the stocks, the 
yard being just at a heyday of industry, ere re- 
cent competition of steam with sail on fishing 
vessels. 

But the human green stock shrank involun- 
tarily as would the unseasoned lumber strewn 
around, if soddened by sudden downpour! 

Passing up hods of treenails! Hods of tree- 
nails to Mitch, Frenchy and the other ship- 
wrights! What a treadmill for a fellow who, 
last spring, had been writing brilliant “ themes,” 
proving geometrical problems, in high school ! 

Turning a contorted face aside — through the 
smudge of disappointment blurring vision, above 
the singing in stung ear-drums, — he became sud- 
denly aware of some squally excitement in a dis- 
tant quarter of the shipyard: of workmen clus- 
tering like bees round a recumbent object, green 
as a swath of marsh grass ! 

Simultaneously, with a nod to him, Mr. Damon 
headed for the bluster — foreman following ! 

The latter glanced back over his shoulder: 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


229 


“ Of course, in a few weeks — when the green 
rubs off — we might put you on to some light 
carpentering work/’ he vouchsafed, “ when you 
can stand up to a saw on vessel’s side, with- 
out mistaking your thumb for a tre’nail-butt ! 
See you again, presently! Busy, now! Going 
to stretch that keel — over there ! ” 

He nodded toward the recumbent swath — 
gleaming like polished jade in the sunlight — 
green as if it sprang from the ground : the 
scarfed keel, bearded keel, backbone of a vessel, 
not yet set up! 

Elevated a foot from matted shavings — re- 
posing on temporary blocking — its timbers of 
hard New England maple had been scarfed to- 
gether, spliced and fastened with strong bolts ! 

On either side of the pedestal surface on which 
a vessel would rest, those timbers were bearded 
— grooved to a depth of some six inches, to 
facilitate the bolting to green backbone of ribs, 
or frame timbers — with first streak of skin or 
garboard planking, too. 

Ere being set up, the keel had received its first 
verdant coat of paint — the arsenic in which 
would prevent wood-worms from preying on its 
sturdy strength! 

Now ! an excited group of yard workmen were 
concerned with the stretching — or setting of it 


230 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


up, at the proper “ steve,” or slant, toward the 
river! With the hoisting of emerald backbone 
from its ground notch to an upright, slightly 
less humble position, on the arrangement of slop- 
ing keel blocks, which would support it and the 
vessel in general during process of building. 

Slowly — slowly — upward — from out the 
ground shadows, hoisted by pulley and tackle of 
a little tripod derrick in the yard, supplemented 
by workmen, using heavy timbers slipped under 
it as levers — very slowly, rose the grass-green 
vertebra, swaying to its canted bed, on the firm 
blocking ! 

As the first scene in the great drama of a ves- 
sel’s building, it moved to an opening chorus — 
the incoherent, blowing hubbub of workmen un- 
der heavy strain — pierced now and again by a 
breathless articulation : 

“ Heave — ahead! Give her a mite more 
derrick. Little more steve to her, forward ! ” 
an anxious foreman, carefully calculating the de- 
gree of slant toward a whispering river. “ Cant 
her — there : hold her now ! ” 

Held she was in the hoisting tackle until props 
could be adjusted — jade-green keel resting on 
its shod, tapered base, on canted cradle-bed — 
like a sloping bank of verdure, newly sprung 
from Mother Earth, with the sun’s kiss upon it! 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


231 


“ Gr-reat Caesar ! I wouldn’t have missed see- 
ing this — for a kingdom ! ” commented Oakley, 
who, of course, had followed on excitement’s trail 
at the first sniff — half forgetting his saddened 
hopes, staring at the backbone so intently that a 
little haze crept into his eyes — creating prema- 
ture waves about it! 

In that greenish blur, as in colored limelight, 
a boy saw something beside the newly canted 
keel: saw incandescent views of the able vessel- 
to-be, floating in panoramic growth above it ! 

“ She’ll be a 4 corker — ’ larger than the Rich- 
ard A. Gage !” he concluded, measuring with his 
eye the dazzling keel-line, seeing the growing 
craft, first as scarecrow vessel in frame, next 
as raw hull — a row of yellow stanchions stick- 
ing up, like spikes on a wall, where her rail 
would come later ! 

Then, the bright, wobbly “ boat,” heeled over 
on the launching ways, darting off them, amid 
an eager chorus of “ Hi ! Hi ! ” as if the river 
were the “ home plate ” — and she making a 
home run ! 

He followed her, towed round to Gloucester, 
pictured the “ stepping ” of spars — with luck- 
money ceremony — as he hoped to see a gallant 
mainmast stepped in the new Gage, this after- 
noon! He saw the future craft, with the boss 


232 FROM KEEL TO KITE 

rigger directing his subordinates “ flying high ” 
at her masthead, as to setting up of shrouds — 
wire standing rigging — then, the reeving of 
hempen ditto, through sheave and block ! Finally, 
he beheld — crowning picture, in clearing sun- 
burst — said running rigging rove through crin- 
gle or eyelet hole of the new vessel’s cloudy can- 
vas, saw the mainsail for the first time hoisted 
to the harbor breeze, spreading its creamy area 
of some seven hundred and fifty yards; foresail, 
“jumbo,” and jib — her four lowers — follow- 
ing suit! 

Then — then, would she take on soul, as it 
were, with her duck: move, throb, for the first 
time, a living, buoyant, independent thing! 

“ Next spring, they’ll get the topmasts on her ; 
she’ll be going out — with all her light kites fly- 
ing ! ” reflected the boy exultantly. Then, sud- 
denly, drew a deep, half-shouting breath which 
thrilled him to his boots! 

The vessel’s uncanted keel had begun at a bot- 
tom notch, goodness knows! From out the 
ground shadows it had been raised, set up ; lowly 
enough it looked, even now, elevated a humble 
three feet above a slanting gully of yard shavings 
— that grass-green bank ! 

If thus an up-to-date “glorified” fisherman 
might grow, under the builders’ hands — across 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


233 


such a gulf of development, at present unspanned 

— from lowly green keel to topsail kite, why 
might not he, even granted that his shipyard keel 

— the first rung of his climbing ladder — were 
set up at a ground notch, too, low down as 
“ passing up hods of treenails ” to Mitch and 
Frenchy ? 

“ So long’s there are no ‘ outs ’ about the keel, 
she’ll be all right ! ” he mused, thinking once more 
of the vessel — the “ dog,” to be — reflecting on 
the loss of one gallant craft, whose skipper had 
“ blamed it on the keel,” on some crooked flaw 
in its adjustment to frame timbers. “ I guess 
there’s no error in this one — in base or balance ; 
such a thing doesn’t happen once in a blue 
moon ! ” soliloquized Oak, thrilled by the con- 
sciousness, without definite moralizing about it 

— that so long as each line in that green pedestal, 
from wooden shoe to beard, was “faired up” 
and true, the vessel would have a trusty back- 
bone to rely upon, when waves were bounding 
her onto some grinding shore! 

“If I have to begin at a bottom notch, at all 

— I’d rather do so in the shipyard than anywhere 
else,” he mused on, thought swaying twixt 
“ corking ” craft-to-be and his own future, be- 
tween which an active imagination — carried 
away by the present scene, and glamour of the 


234 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


launching two days ago — could hardly fail to 
draw some parallel. 

“ My — my 4 kites ’ had to come off in heavy 
weather ! ” was the half-audible idea racing 
through an excited brain. “Now — now , ’twill 
be a case of starting all over again — growing 
from green keel up ! ” with a roused chuckle. 
“ But — surely — if a fellow strains every nerve, 
he ought, in time, to get half-a-show on the 
launching ways : ought — some day — to find 
himself 4 kiting ’ ahead, again ! ” seeing a tickling 
vision of fast fisherman, “ yachty clipper,” cutting 
out her dozen, or more, knots an hour, spread- 
ing her topsail pinions, 44 kiting ” past some 
blowing old tramp steamer, leaving steam power 
“ not in it!” 

“Yes! a shipyard job’s the job for me — for 
the present, at any rate,” decided a carried-away 
youth, ignoring the prospect that work in the 
building yard would not be all touched with the 
romance — the whooping excitement — of keel- 
canting and launching! 

“ In the city, a fellow might slip into an easier 
berth, with 4 more frills to it/ ” he mused, 44 but 
the chances are ten to one against his stepping 
into one, right away, that would allow him a 
chance to attend evening classes — go ahead, at 
all ! And I’ve no time to waste in looking round 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 235 

— with three dollars out of my last ‘ fiver ’ — 
gone ! ” 

This decided it : “ I'll be glad if you’ll give 

me a chance at anything — even passing up hods 
of treenails! ” Oakley told the foreman a few 
minutes later. “ You said that you’d put me on 
to some light carpentering work, just’s soon as I 
could stand up to a saw on a vessel’s side, with- 
out mistaking my thumb for a tre’ nail-butt? ” 
pinning the yard manager down. 

“Well, if I said so, I’ll hold to it! I guess 
you’re the kind o’ chap who sheds the green 
pretty quickly; you’ll get your second coat of 
shipyard paint — before the keel does!” jok- 
ingly, glancing at the verdant bank, basking in 
the sun. “ It’s a great stick of timber,” laugh- 
ingly, “ hundred-and-ten feet, from tip to tip — 
built of hard maple lengths, scarfed together! 
I understand you’ve been a couple of years in 
high school : ever read in your Shakespeare 
about the 4 scarfed barque — ’ eh ? ” The fore- 
man’s dark eyes — eyes of a student — glis- 
tened. 

“ Let’s see ? I did ; remember, now ! Great 
stuff it was, too ! ” endorsed the ex-Sophomore 
enthusiastically. 

“ Well ! all the timbers and planking of a ves- 
sel used to be ‘ scarfed ’ or spliced together. 


236 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Now, we only follow that method of welding 
them in the keel — and preserve the old Eng- 
lish term.” 

“ The ‘ scarfed ’ keel ! ” Oakley dwelt upon the 
words, with dancing eyes, loving its music. 

The foreman came back to earth : “ Well ! 

you can start in to work, to-morrow morning,” 
he said. “ Til speak to Mr. Damon — see what 
wages he can pay you — I guess, about enough 
to cover your living-expenses, at first! If you 
want to find a good cheap boarding-house, talk 
to ‘ Cyclone — ’ Andy Mitchell — his mother runs 
one!” 

This Oakley proceeded to do, finding Frenchy 
in Mitch’s neighborhood, each aloft on some 
staging, driving in with thundering blows of a 
wooden mallet, or beetle, the plump, tapering tree- 
nails of spruce-wood, — a foot in length, some 
four inches in diameter at the outer end — 
which fastened a vessel’s planking to her frame 
timbers. 

“ Take a beetle an’ whang ’em in!” crowed 
Mitch — greeting him with a nod from above — 
while his powerful young biceps suited reverber- 
ating thunders to the word. “ Ten thousand 
‘ tre’nails,’ to be driven into one vessel, Oak; to 
hold her skin an’ bones together! Ever dream 
of such a thing? ” 


THE KEEL IS SET UP 


237 


“ * Ten thousand? ’ " echoed Oak — in gaping 
amazement. 

“ Nary a one less ! Oldest thing in the world 

— a tre’nail ! ’’ philosophized young Mitch, pro- 
nouncing it “ trunel.” “ Guess, Noah pinned 
the little old ark together with 'em. Gee! how 
tired he must ha' got o’ whanging 'em in." 

“ He had a bully crowd, to help him ! " sug- 
gested Oakley — and put his question about the 
boarding-house. 

Now! it was Frenchy who exploded in panegy- 
ric : “ Good board’-house," he declared feel- 

ingly : “ gif you de good eats ; cake, peanut, candy 

— ever’ting you’ll demand for ! " rubbing a 
rounded paunch. “ Perette est tres mala-de! 
Tra la la la la! " he caroled gleefully, in the same 
breath, hopping to earth for another hod of tree- 
nails — just as if it were the fare of that excel- 
lent “ board’-house ” which had made poor Pe- 
rette “ very ill ! " 

“Perette est tres mala-de Tra la-la-la-la!" 
chanted Oak airily — equally unsympathetic — 
as assured that Mitch’s mother could take him in 

— he made a bee-line for the hotel, to “ h’ist the 
jumbo on his pen — ’’ write an affectionate letter 
to old Mander Story, telling how he fared, asking 
that the little trunk with his clothes and other 
belongings be forwarded forthwith to Essex ! 


238 FROM KEEL TO KITE 

“ Tra la la la la!” he chanted, gaily. “ So 
far, so good! Keel’s set up! Now for Glouces- 
ter and Greengage: for seeing the Richard A. 
get her lucky-penny ! ” while Barty’s souvenir, 
the lucky stones in his pocket, beat up a tinkling 
hurrah \ 


CHAPTER XVI 


LUCK-MONEY 



ROM that opening scene of Act One in the 


drama of a vessel’s building, the setting 


up of grass-green keel in Essex shipyard, 
to the first scene in Act Two — the stepping of 
kingly mainmast in brave hull, already launched, 
against the setting of a Gloucester wharf — was 
a two-course banquet of excitement to a boy with 
such a keen love of “ boats,” as had Oakley. 

If the first ceremony was lowly — earthbound 
— this ended as a sky-piercer ! 

Slowly from out a ribbon-like gulf of green 
dock water, separating the Richard A. Gage from 
her owners’ wharf, rose a mighty, submerged 
spar of Oregon pine, which had been floated to 
the vessel’s side — sunbeams flirting with its 
dripping iron cap! 

Like massive, tawny horn it swayed upward 
out of the green water — as though some pro- 
digious body must follow from dock depths — 
hoisted by straining hand-power of four men, 
wielding capstan bars which turned the windlass 
in a hoisting crane upon the wharf. 


239 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


240 

Carefully lashed in the heaving tackle — stead- 
ied by stays, made fast on deck — it mounted 
inch by inch, the admiration of waterfront spec- 
tators ! 

“Faith! she’s quite a spar,” ejaculated a 
voice amid an eager little group on the Gage's 
deck, of which Oakley formed one — the boy, 
on putting in his appearance as a sight-seer, hav- 
ing been invited by the grey-haired Mr. Harvey 
to “jump aboard,” and watch the stepping cere- 
mony. “ Quite a spar — eighty feet — that’ll 
be seventy above-board; she’ll bury ten feet of 
it ! ” went on the same initiated voice, whose soft 
brogue — salted, as it were, round the edges — 
a boy had no difficulty in recognizing. 

“ Why, then, Oakie boy — is that yourself ? 
An’ did you drop from the clouds ? ” burst forth 
the cheery, dialectic accents, a minute later. 

“ Sure! an’ who else would it be but meself ? ” 
retorted a youth, in merry counterfeit. “ And 
it’s not in the clouds I’ve been, at all — Mr. 
Barty O’Halloran!” 

“ Lucky for them ! ” retorted Barty, glan- 
cing up at thin lines of white in a mackerel sky. 
“ If you don’t leave off mimicking yer betters, 
them pudding tones o’ yours will act as a sinker 
on the spar ! ” 

“ You’ll have to wake bright an’ early, if you 


LUCK-MONEY 


241 


want to get ahead o’ Barty,” suggested a ship- 
smith, doing some work on deck, with a little 
curl of laughter that gilded the tedium of the tall 
mast’s slow ascent, twixt wharf and vessel. 

“ An’ where’s that twin-shadow o’ yours, 
‘ Greengage — ’ the plum that ain’t so green as 
it’s made out to be ? ” inquired the Irishman, with 
interest. 

“ Don’t know ! Suppose he couldn’t get down 
here in time — school isn’t over — ” 

“ School’s done and war’s begun ! ” pealed 
boisterous accents from the wharf, interrupting 
him, as a newcomer yelled a Revolutionary cry 
of his ancient Alma Mater. “ I — I popped 
down, by first train, directly I could hook it out 
of class. Didn’t wait for dinner — loaded up 
with a d-double quantity, at recess luncheon ! ” 

“ Guess you knew they couldn’t step the main- 
mast in her, without you — eh, Gagie ? ” quizzed 
the Irishman, laughing from his vantage point on 
deck at the late arrival: at breathless school- 
boy, marking time, drill fashion, with his feet on 
the wharf coping. “ Say ! Oak ” — Barty nudged 
his privileged companion — “ say ! if we let him 
get aboard, we’ll have no peace here: we’ll be 
as much in hot water as the man to whom the 
fairies gave the gift of understanding animal 
langwidge ! ” 


24,2 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Too bad that the gate of Heaven ain’t kept by O’Flynn, 
For such a surly dog would let nobody in ! ” 

sang back Gage, in a couplet borrowed from the 
adversary. “ I’m going aboard, if I swim — 
boots an’ all — see?” hurling himself in a wild 
pierhead jump at the bowsprit of a neighboring 
vessel, shinning aft, the length of her cluttered 
deck, then, over her stern-rail, in a boarding leap, 
onto the Richard A. as Oakley called the sparless 
hull — awaiting her luck-money. 

“ Death to pirates ! ” cried the latter, grappling 
him. 

“ Stop skylarking, boys ; you can let off steam 
by-an’-by ! ” commanded Mr. Harvey. “ The 
mast will be stepped, in a few minutes ! ” 

“ Skylarking ” spontaneously stopped itself. 
For, now, a kingly mainmast, all out of water, 
was being thrust inboard over the vessel’s rail, 
by projecting arm of the crane, till it hovered, 
a lashed, iridescent spire, above the yawning 
mast-hole on the main deck, which had gaped, 
a black disc, at Oakley’s feet on the night when 
he jumped a bunk on unlaunched vessel. 

“Lower away!” It was the voice of the 
“ boss rigger,” directing proceedings. “ Wait a 
minute ! ” his left hand went up deterrently. 
“ She hasn’t got her luck-money yet ! ” 

Every eye was now turned upward. The very 


LUCK-MONEY 


US 

breath seemed drawn out of spectators’ stiffened 
bodies, to hover in aerial rings round that eighty- 
foot sky-scraper, swaying above the deck, like 
cloud-chasing arm — the ridiculous little five- 
inch “ tenant,” into which the mast was cut away 
at its lower end, wagging like a sawed-off finger ! 

Into the mortise of the step-hole, ten feet be- 
low in the vessel’s keelson, that “ tenant,” or 
tenon, would fit as into a glove-finger. 

But, according to custom on a fisherman-to-be, 
the mortise-throat must swallow its luck first. 

And the breasts of two boys heaved convul- 
sively, as at the denouement of a play, while a 
grey-haired vessel-owner stepped to the edge of 
that circular mast-hole ! 

One moment the silver luck rotated in air, at 
the end of a long arm “ twirling for the visitors,” 
as Gage brokenly put it ! The next, a white coin 
flashed down into the mast-hole, clinking faint- 
ly — in a little tinkling roulade, like a grass- 
bird’s note — deep down in dark mortise-throat 
of an untried vessel ! 

“ She’s got her luck-money ! Lower away ! 
Let her go!” 

Excitement clicked in beholders’ throats, which 
worked as if they, too, were swallowing coins! 
Each face was a silvery pucker, reflecting that 
lucky piece, while a kingly mainmast, lowered 


244 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


at the word, slipped down into yawning mast- 
hole — “ stepping itself,” as tenon finger fitted 
into mortise, ten feet below! 

“ May the Powers grant that the seas’ll never 
take her luck from her,” murmured Barty; 
“ that she may never see the ‘ thrown-down ’ day 
when that mainmast will have to be cut away ! ” 

“ Oh-h, she’ll hold on to them both — never 
you fear ! ” gurgled Gage, still breathless and 
luminous ! 

As for Oakley, his eyes were wet and winking : 
to him, the stepping ceremony seemed something 
like a marriage; he had partial realization of the 
battles through which hull and spar would fare 
together — until death should them part — as 
was most likely! 

Work to come in the shipyard, even the hum- 
ble treenail-toting, took on a little more lustre; 
there, he could trace the formation of those cov- 
ered bowels, keelson and mortise, now, digest- 
ing the silver “ luck-penny ! ” He started from 
abstraction as Barty touched him on the shoulder. 

“ I’ve got to catch the next car back to Essex,” 
remarked the latter. “ Going out again to- 
morrow, pollock-fishing — for a few days, at a 
time! Must spend a little while, gossiping with 
me mother, to-night ! ” Come up and visit with 
her and the little old blue jay, that I was telling 


LUCK-MONEY 


245 


you about, some time, boys! He’s a miracle, 
knows every word I say to him ! An’ the green 
parrot, too — a fighter from ’way back ! ” 

Barty, an ardent bird-lover, rambled on about 
his winged friends, while — his companions hav- 
ing decided to take the next car, too — the trio 
ambled from wharf to wharf, with yet some 
twenty minutes to spare, pausing to watch a rig- 
ger, high at the masthead of another new vessel 
— a breeze-blown blot, nearly eighty feet aloft! 

This budding schooner had mainmast and fore- 
mast both in, with the wire spring-stay connect- 
ing them, giving the slight, tense forward in- 
clination, as if there were a tawny ear at the 
mastheads, listening to the breeze’s call. 

“ See, boys, that spring-stay is shackled to 
mainmast and foremast, both ! ” explained Bar- 
tholomew. “ The fore-stay,” pointing to a wire 
rope running out to the bowsprit, “ keeps the 
foremast in place, and the foremast holds main- 
mast in proportion! That rigger setting up the 
spreader-lift, runs from the spreader, or cross- 
trees, to the masthead. See, he’s got his marlin- 
spike, knife and horn o’ grease aloft, with him! ” 

“ Jupiter! it- — it queers a fellow’s breath — 
to watch him,” murmured Gage, blinking up at 
the rigger perched on the cross-trees, seventy-five 
feet above his head. 


246 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


To Oakley, the sight was an everyday one; 
he began softly to mumble some lines of a 
Gloucester poet: 

“ ‘ Yer may blow erbout th’ cirkis, th’ man on the trapeze, 
Yer may pant yer breath erbout the “ Human Fly ! ” 
But if you want the dizzy, that’ll infant-like yer knees, 
Let yer opticks quiz the rigger, flyin’ high ! ’ ” 

Half a minute, later, three spectators did get 
a shock to “ infant-like their knees — ” which 
bowed those joints under them, like green twigs 
bending ! 

The rigger, backing out to the end of the cross- 
tree, suddenly, by some rash movement, slid an 
inch too far — turned head over heels, backward 

— fell! 

In stark silence — breath knocked out — on- 
lookers beheld the breeze-blown blot streak 
downward — a dark smear against the sunlight 

— clear the vessel’s rail by a few inches, strike 
green water, come up blowing — unhurt ! ” 

“ Great Csesar ! I — I feel weak — still ! ” 
gurgled Oakley, when the recovered speech bub- 
bled in his throat, like water in a bottle’s neck. 

“ Felt stagnated — myself!” heaved out 
Barty. “ I thought it was ‘ all day ’ with him. 
Vessel was listed over, that’s how he cleared the 
deck. I’ve seen riggers do some queer tumbles 
from aloft; saw one fall atop of a blacksmith; 


LUCK-MONEY 


m 


he wasn’t hurt — but, my eye! you should ha’ 
heard the blacksmith. Same fellow fell, later, 
into a ‘ flake ’ of the chain cable c’iled on deck, 
was taken up, for dead, lay forty-one days — 
unconscious ! He’s alive still — rigging ves- 
sels ! ” 

“ George ! They’re nervy fellows, those 
belted riggers,” mumbled Gage. “ Well ! let’s 
trot ahead, and see if our friend, the 4 messy ’ old 
coaster is ’longside the wharf, still ? ” 

She was — her captain driven to the necessity 
of having her cleared up and put in order by 
’longshoremen, ere finding it possible to ship a 
small crew, to replace deserters. 

In volatile reaction from a stormy moment 
when the shadow of Tragedy had brushed by 
them, two boys assailed him, and the plaintive 
sailor who had offered Oakley a berth, with all 
the chaff they could collect at a moment’s notice ! 

“ Hullo, Skip,” how does that tarred grub 
taste ? Getting so fat you can’t waddle on it — 
eh ? ” The coaster’s skipper was tall and spare. 
“Use pitch for molasses aboard her, don’t ye? 
Oh-h ! what a mess?! ” in dual groan. “ Oh ! 
Jean Ba’ti’se, pourquoi you gr-rease, mine leetle 
dog’s nose with — tar-r-r ? ” 

“ Shut up — ye young rascals ! ‘ Mocking is 

catching ! ’ ” admonished Barty, laughing. 


248 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Faith, some day, ye may find yerselves in a 
tarry mess — ashore or afloat ! ” 

That the “ mess ” was, even now, preparing 
— the retributive trap fixed — the railing pair 
had no idea! 


CHAPTER XVII 

OH, WHAT A MESS! 


UT GUESS, you two boys have about thirty 
I pounds o' steam to the square inch, to 
let off ; take care it don’t ‘ bust 5 some- 
thing! ” said Barty, as he parted from the boys 
on the confines of the shipbuilding town. “ I’d 
get out into one of the fields there an’ run half- 
a-dozen times round it; that’ll ease you up a lot! 
Well, so long, lads! Here’s hoping we’ll have 
other good times together — maybe, ashore may- 
be, afloat ! ” 

“ Afloat, ’twill be ! ” declared Gage. “ Wait 
till we all make a summer trip to Georges to- 
gether, and if I don’t tie a bucket to your leg, 
Barty, when I catch you dozing on watch ! ” 

“ You may tie the cook’s copper boiler to me 
hoof, when you nab me, sleeping on look-out ! ” 
retorted the big Irishman indignantly. “ So 
long! Don’t get to painting the little old town 
red or knotting rope-hurdles across the streets, 
before I see yez, again; take a fool’s advice an’ 
race it off ! ” alluding to the pressure of surplus 
249 


250 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


steam, strong enough at this moment to burst 
anything — even a friendship ! 

But, albeit the advice was that of a wise man, 
no fool, two headstrong fellows did not take it; 
went off, instead, on a rainbow-chasing expedi- 
tion after further excitement ! 

“ Hurrah, they haven’t knocked off work in 
the ropewalk, yet ! ” cried Gage, suddenly, halting 
on the sidewalk, pointing to long, low, grey 
building, like a strung-out freight train, nestling 
amid trees. “ They usually stop at five — wants 
a few minutes of that, now — some big bales of 
cotton have just come by express, are being de- 
livered, so they won’t be shutting up shop for a 
while,” nodding toward a wagon before the rope- 
walk door, in a shadowy yard, flanked by tar- 
house, drying house and other supplementary 
buildings. 

“ I haven’t peeped in there — yet ! ” said Oak- 
ley, studying the outside of the low, covered ar- 
cade, four hundred feet long, with interest. 
“ Manufacture only cotton fishing lines in this 
walk; isn’t that so? And every vessel sailing 
out of Gloucester gets her trawling ground-lines 
— and generally the gangions short for hooks — 
or her hand-line9 from here! I’d like to go 
through, but — Oh, I say, Gage, quit that ; cut it 
out !” as a hilarious youngster, frothing over, 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


251 


tried to bend his companion’s tall shoulders from 
behind and play leapfrog over his head. 

“ Well, let’s go in and look round — not stand 
mooning here ! ” cried the other. “ Greatest old 
walk in the country ! ” he ran on, as the pair 
found themselves entering a side door of the 
trainlike building. “ The day of the ‘ human 
spider,’ of which Longfellow wrote, isn’t yet quite 
gone by : that’s what my uncle says ! ” 

“ It looks ‘ spidery ’ enough, at this hour ; like 
a lane of spooks ! ” laughed Oakley. “ Almost 
brings the gooseflesh, to look away off to the 
other end ! ” gazing down the “ dusky lane,” 
without any thought of what gooseflesh sensa- 
tions he might experience before his first visit 
to the ropewalk and its outbuildings should be 
over. 

A pale spectral alley was the walk at this twi- 
light hour, with its quintettes of creamy strands, 
in process of hardening — receiving from ma- 
chinery the back-twist to strengthen and stiffen 
them — flitting swiftly, in parallel lines, to some 
ghostly pillar, midway of the lane of web, round 
which they twined — or were hitched, in practical 
language ! 

“ Greatest old walk in the country ! ” Gage re- 
iterated. “ Ancient enough, goodness knows : 
or the old ropewalk up on the hill was — pred- 


252 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ecessor of this one. That was the real stamping- 
ground of the ‘ human spider/ where all the 
heckling and spinning of yarn, laying it up into 
rope, too, was done by hand — or hand-turned 
wheel! It’s divided up into ‘hen-pens/ now!” 
laughingly. 

“ Heard the roosters crowing there, this morn- 
ing!” chuckled his companion, supremely inter- 
ested in the ropewalk, for other reasons than its 
semi-primitive charm. All the “ dozens ” of 
trawling ground-line and hook-bearing “ gang- 
ions ” which his Uncle Ceeph had taken aboard 
his vessel when he fitted out for halibut-fletching 
on his long trip north to Arctic latitudes, had 
been manufactured here — hand-lines, too, which 
his father once used for fishing on Quero and 
Grand Banks. 

In other words, the ropewalk was a twin- 
brother to the shipyard. For if the vessel built 
on neighboring stocks went in among the fish, 
like some great devouring octopus, trawling 
ground-line, hook-bearing gangion — or hand- 
line, if a different method of fishing was used — 
were the feelers by means of which she preyed on 
them. 

“ It’s a great old place ! Regular Queer 
Street, at this hour ! ” gurgled Oakley, even while 
noisy “ whirrs ” of laying-up machinery at en- 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


253 


trance-end of the walk, were humming them- 
selves silent, like a troop of whirling marionettes, 
at the bidding of slackening drum, beneath, gird- 
ed with its pale yarn band. Machinery stopped, 
with a weary purr. 

“ These are light ground-lines, to be used in 
trawling for cod, haddocking on Georges and 
so forth,” volunteered the foreman of the walk, 
halting for a minute beside the visitors. “ Four- 
teen-pound line this is — which means that a 
4 dozen ’ of the line, as we call it, containing 
really a hundred and twenty dozen fathoms, 
weighs fourteen pounds — the same which is to 
be supplied to the Richard A. Gage } new vessel, 
launched on Saturday. You can see her bundles 
of line, if you go out to the packing house ; they’re 
not shipped yet.” 

And, forthwith, a brace of youthful sight-seers, 
making a bolt for out-buildings, were fingering 
the bundles done up in strong brown paper, con- 
taining the trawling ground-line, to be put out 
from eight or nine dories, carried by the Gage, 
when “ making a set ” on Georges, Brown’s, 
Jeffrey’s, or some comparatively near-home fish- 
ing ground ! 

It, somehow, made them feel as if Georges 
bank — that rendezvous of fishermen, with its 
half-dozen dangerous shoals, two hundred and 


254 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


thirty miles out from Gloucester — were some- 
where round the corner! 

“ Hurrah ! we may be making a set with four 
tubs of this very trawl-line, yet, when our trip 
comes off ! ” blithely suggested Gage. 

“ If you go along as passenger, you won’t get 
much chance to fish — not unless some fellow 
takes you out in the dory, with him ! ” quizzed his 
companion. “ And in heavy weather, if the ves- 
sel’s crowd are hand-lining, fishing over the ves- 
sel’s port side, you’ll have to fish alone, to star- 
board, where you’ll get lots of keelhauling — or 
your line will ! ” laughingly taking it out of the 
other, with his superior knowledge of how they 
run things on the Banks. 

“ I will not fish over the starboard side — so 
there! I’ll get round the skipper; even if you 
go as fisherman, I as passenger, I’ll fish wherever 
you do ! See ? And I’ll get even with you — 
for 4 keelhauling ’ me!” 

A minute later, Oakley felt two handfuls of 
yarn fluff, which had been slily gathered from the 
ropewalk floor, thrust down his back — like 
shredded cobwebs, but more “ tickly.” 

“ I’m going to get even with you, for keel- 
hauling me ! ” rang down a voice from a nar- 
row staircase near by, whose stairs, coated with 
dried tar-drippings, reflected the faint rays of an 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


255 


oil-lamp — newly kindled in the ropewalk — with 
bronze iridescence. 

It was the stairway of the tar-house, divided 
into two low floors. In the underneath depart- 
ment, affixed to the wall, was what looked like a 
brace of bath-tubs, suggesting that, possibly, tar- 
baths were the latest fad ! 

One, of copper, was half-filled with a thick, 
black pool, showing dim bronze gleams in the 
October dusk : this was the “ tar-pot,” a bath- 
tub in earnest, albeit not tired, cure-seekers, but 
fathom after fathom of white rope was laved 
there — run through it, to receive the seasoning 
coating. A process through which every variety 
of fishing line must pass, if it is to withstand the 
worrying gnaw of ocean brine ! 

Briefly, the tarring process was this: the un- 
seasoned line was “ reeled up ” from the rope- 
walk through a trap-door into a low loft which 
formed the second story of the tar-house. Thence, 
it was lowered again, through a slanting shaft, 
by the same mechanical power which had hoisted 
it, and — unwound — run fathom by fathom 
through the tar-pot, whose sticky mixture had 
been heated to thick liquid by means of being 
violently stirred with a hot steam-pipe. 

Having received its coating, the line was coiled 
once more on a giant spool, stood on end in the 


256 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


tub of stone, surnamed tar-trough, to drip, and 
have superfluous tar brushed off with the nipper 
— glove of rag on iron arm. 

Above this stone tar-trough of treacle-like drip- 
pings, the low floor of the loft overhead, was 
cut away, leaving a black opening, some three 
feet wide, longer in proportion, through which 
the full reel, with its sticky coil, was hoisted, 
again to the loft, there to stand for a dozen hours 
or so, ere the line was bundled off to the drying 
house. 

All this “ messy ” realm, every twist of the 
tarring process, was familiar to Gage — and, as 
yet, an unspelled book to Oakley ! 

At the former’s cry : “ I’m going to get even 

with you, for keelhauling me ! ” the latter, half- 
irritated, half-titillated, by the tickling yarn cob- 
webs thrust down his back, made a dash for that 
bronzed stairway, vowing thunder and lightning 
vengeance. 

“ Catch me if you can ! ” screamed a taunt- 
ing fugitive, trusting for escape to his knowledge 
of every nook and lurking place in the loft, now, 
dark as Erebus — the grey shaft of twilight steal- 
ing in through low window at the farther end, 
being sat upon by the slanting roof — its feeble 
attempt at illumination rendered futile! 

“ It’s up to you to nab me ! ” crowed the 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


257 

outlaw again, with whooping noise that might 
have come from that arcade of blatant roosters 

— the old ropewalk on the hill. “ I could pros- 
pect in this loft, with my eyes shut ! ” 

Unfortunately, the pursuer could not “ pros- 
pect ” in its attic gloom, with them open. And 
he never dreamed of pitfalls. 

“ I’ll catch you : don’t you worry ! I’ll fix 
you,” he shouted in laughing hue and cry, leap- 
ing to the top of tarry staircase, starting for- 
ward, at blind a dash, across the loft floor. 
“ You’ll get yours — all right — ” 

At that sorry moment, the pursuer “ got his,” 
after an appalling fashion — according to which 
he had never “ got it ” before ! 

His voice broke in a wild, startled cry. “ What 

— what was this ? ” One rash foot swinging off 
into space, sinking — groping — in a yawning 
shaft of midnight blackness ! The other immedi- 
ately following suit, ere he, Oakley, could “ clap 
on the brakes ! ” 

“ Great Scott ! what’s happening; I — I’m 
falling through s-somewhere ! ” he shrieked aloud, 
with desperate thoughts of earthquake and the 
whole loft floor giving way. 

“Look out! Take care!” rang back Gage’s 
warning shout simultaneously, the two voices col- 
liding. “ Look out for the gap in the flooring, 


258 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


there — where they hoist the reels ; I — forgot 
— you didn’t know ! ” all in one stormy pant, 
bringing up short himself, breathless, daunted. 

A second rocking cry from the pursuer — rock- 
ing up through the loft floor — told him that the 
warning came too late. The helter-skelter chase 
had come to untimely end: somebody had gone 
down, via that black floor-trap, into the tar- 
trough, beneath. 

“ Great guns ! he’s fallen through — through 
to the tar-house — into the trough ” shouted 
Gage, palsied between laughter and fright. 
“ What an idiot I was not to remember to — tell 
him ! ” in hurricane gasps. “ Oak ! Hi — Oak- 
ley ! ” he had recrossed the floor in panther-like 
springs, was kneeling beside the gaping opening 
now — three feet by five of blackness. “ Great 
snakes! didn’t you see how the flooring was cut 
away, here ? I forgot to tell — generally, they 
have it covered with a hatch ! ” The boyish voice 
was an incoherent sieve of anxiety, through which 
bubbled up the edges of a laugh. “ You — 
you’re not hurt ? Can’t be — much! Did you 
land in the — trough ? ” Involuntarily the last 
word was a strangling hiccough of merriment 
over the comic element in the situation. 

But its moral effect was like that of a lighted 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


259 


match dropped through the gap in the flooring, 
causing a tar-barrel flare, beneath ! 

Land — land in the tr-trough ? ’ ” sputtered 
the shaken victim, below, physically uninjured be- 
yond shock of falling and concussion, by an ab- 
surd little drop of six feet into that stone hollow 
where the tarred lines, coiled on waste reel, were 
set to drip. “ * Land in the trough ! ’ ” in stormy 
echo. “ That — that was a pretty thing to do ! 
Ni-nice way to — ‘ get even ! * ” rolling, bumping, 
squatting — with difficulty avoiding a further roll 
over the tone tub’s side, even while his feet ad- 
hered to the half-dried tar-drippings, like a fly 
to sticking-paper. 

“Nice way, to get even! My — clothes !” 
Even at this moment a victim’s thoughts veering 
from absurdity to anger, from anger to anguish, 
over the situation, were congratulating him that 
the trousers, which would suffer most, did not 
form part of that festive attire known as “ Sun- 
day rags.” Still, to a boy, at present, earning 
little over four dollars a week, the spoiling of a 
“ pair of pants ” was a bitter befalling ! 

He was raging and ramping, “ sputtering, like 
a roasted apple,” between hot wrath and a rising 
sense of the ludicrous, at feeling his feet stick- 
ing in the molasses-like drippings — at taking a 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


260 

roll in the tar-trough — when Gage, who had 
descended the short, narrow stairway almost at 
a bound, appeared in the doorway, below, ready 
to “ take what was coming to him! ” 

But as blank ill-luck would have it, right on 
the dusky threshold, the latter bumped into two 
other spectators — Mitch and Frenchy — who, 
passing at the moment, strolling homeward 
from their shipyard work, had caught wild sounds 
from outbuildings of the ropewalk, were strain- 
ing their eyes to discern the cause. 

At the critical moment of their advent, Oakley 
was just vaulting over the trough’s side — 
redolent of pungent tar-drippings as were the coal 
and “ grub ” of that luckless coaster on whose 
deck the rolling barrels of pitch-tar had been 
stove in ! 

A comparison could not fail to strike the Latin 
School boy: “Oh — oh, what a — mess!” he 
shrieked, exploding wildly, as leaning against the 
whitewashed wall, he pointed the jeering finger 
at shoes and nether extremities of the tarred vic- 
tim. 

“ Oh-h what a mess! ” crowed Andy Mitchell ; 
whose eyes were rolling up ; his carpenter’s hands 
pawed the air. in ecstasy over a new joke, after a 
monotonous day of whanging in treenails. 
“ What’s up ? Why, it’s Oakley — the ship- 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


261 


yard greeny — taking a roll in the tar-trough ! ” 
The voice rose to a squeal of derision; fluttering 
hands beat the air, like electric fans ! 

“ Don’t mean to say that you tumbled down 
through — from the loft above ; eh, greeny ? 
Couldn’t you see a trap when ’twas under your 
nose; ’tisn’t pitch-dark yet? Well! you are all 
messed up. Want we should take the ‘ nipper ’ 
to you — to brush you off ? ” choking with laugh- 
ter. 

Frenchy was rumbling “Tonnerres!” and 
“ Miserericordes! ” with a tail of lightning com- 
ment in his own tongue ! 

Thunders and miseries it was, indeed to the 
tarred victim! In the twilight he began to see 
things red. 

“ Oh-h, what a mess ! ” bleated Gage. “ He’s 
nicely tarred up, now ! All — all we’ve got to 
do, boys, is to start in an’ — feather him !” bub- 
bling and gurgling. 

That had been done already, to all intents 
and purposes! Each mocking word seemed to 
the wrought-up butt, standing there, like a fool’s 
feather stuck upon him! If he hadn’t a close 
acquaintance with fear in general, he did possess 
a sore dread of being made a laughing-stock. 
Just at first, he had been divided as to whether to 
view the absurd mishap in light of comedy or 


262 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


tragedy ; the comic view would have prevailed but 
for the presence of those two grinning ship-car- 
penters ! 

Now, however, Gage’s last word was again the 
spark to the tar-barrel! In a swoop the victim, 
was upon him — crowding him against the white- 
wash — face, eyes, speech one wild blaze ! 

“ That — that’s a pretty thing to do — to a 
fellow! Nice way to get even! ” harping on the 
passionate string. ‘Til lick you — lick you, till 
you can’t stand up! You just put up a job on 
me — remembered about that cut in the flooring 
— all right!” 

“ Honest; I did-didn’t. ’T wasn’t any p-put up 
job!” But laughter still smoked in the school- 
boy, blurring earnestness. 

“Don’t believe it; you’re a mean sneak!” 
Uncle Ceeph was not the only member of a cer- 
tain family with a hot dash of pepper in him, 
which stung his judgment when passion blew it 
about — spake words which a deeper self con- 
tradicted. Now, it was touch and go with a boy- 
ish friendship, as it had been half-a-dozen years 
ago, between a grandfather and granduncle on 
the occasion of the burning of that smoke- 
house ! 

“You’re a sneak! I’ll lick you — with one 
hand behind my back ! I’ll jam your head against 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


the wall ! ” Oakley was suiting action to the 
threat, pinioning his erstwhile friend against the 
dim, ghostly whitewash! 

“ Think you're a-able — eh? You — you’re a 
coward ; don’t give a fellow a — show ! Stand 
off, and see whether you can lick me ? ” Gage 
was, now, flaming, too ; there was no “ back 
down ” in his eyes, but a dash of surprise which 
for a moment staggered the storming challenger ; 
he was the younger, not quite Oakley’s match. 

“Oh! I’ll give you all the ‘ show ’ you want; 
I’ll teach you — ” 

In a second, fists were clenched, muscles con- 
tracted! One or two light blows were inter- 
changed — though combatants could scarcely read 
each other’s face! 

“ Come — quit that ! ” cried Mitch, abruptly 
striding forward. “We took you for a green- 
horn — ” Cyclone laid a heavy hand on Oakley’s 
shoulder, “but for half a man, too! What 
d’you mean, flying up in the air, like this over 
a skylarking accident, and a little 4 jolly? ’ ” 

“ I am a man ! ” flamed the besotted aggressor, 
furiously trying to shake off the deterring hand. 

“ That’s what I took you for ! ” returned Mitch 
tartly, his cool tone turning the hose on the chal- 
lenger. “ This is kids’ play — fighting over a 
roll in the tar-trough ! ” Involuntarily there was 


264 FROM KEEL TO KITE 

a rising, mirthful inflection in the last word, 
which nearly set Oakley off again. 

Something held him back — not young Mitch- 
ell’s grip; he could have wrested himself free, 
closed with the foe again, even for a minute! 
No, it was a face which rose in mist before him : 
that of his grandfather, of Papa John, who 
would never take tamely a real insult, a voice 
instilling into him the first principle of manhood : 
“ A man must hold himself together : it behooves 
a man to hold himself together! You’ve got to 
get Oakley Rose where you can bind him ! ” 

It was that, and the lingering dash of amaze- 
ment — of something very like disappointment — 
mingling with “ fight ” in Gage’s eyes, which, as 
the red cloud of passion lifted, made the chal- 
lenger step back, right foot first, arms swing- 
ing wildly for a minute — then, dropping to his 
sides ! 

“ I was a bally fool — Gagie ! ” he let out, 
with snorting sounds. “ Of course, I know you 
forgot all about that — that cut in the flooring 
— didn’t mean — ” Eyes, still hot, looked ap- 
pealingly into the opponent’s. 

Still, it was touch and go with a friendship! 
For, now, Gage, gulping hard, had to swallow the 
steel; overlook the sudden onslaught, drawing 


“ OH, WHAT A MESS ! ” 


265 


battle out of a storm of chaff — the impugning 
of word and motive. 

But while two pairs of eyes, still smoking, as it 
were, gazed into each other, something passed 
between them: truth calling upon truth for un- 
derstanding and square judgment! Gage, too, 
began to laugh unsteadily. 

“I — I was an idiot — not to warn you ! ” he 
puffed out. “ It was enough to make any fel- 
low feel rattled — mad — the fall — all three of 
us hop-hopping on you together ! And your 
clothes! Too bad about your clothes!” he 
stooped to examine the ruined trousers, winking 
away storm-drops, bravely sitting upon a .re- 
curring inclination to howl : “ Oh-h, what a 

mess! ” 

“ Let’s put for the drug-store, Oakie, and see 
whether we can get something to clean them off 
with ! ” he proposed, after a calming minute. 

“ Not until I’ve changed them you bet! ” 

“ Right you are ! When your trunk comes 
along — next time I’m down — yon can take it 
out of me, with the gloves! I’ve got a pair up 
at home; I’ll bring them down!” For, natur- 
ally, youthful discussions had turned upon box- 
ing — skilled fist-play — together with other 
manly exercises. “ We’ll see who can hit 


266 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


straightest, when Mitch isn’t around — or with 
him, as referee ! ” 

Which, after many days, they did, feinting and 
countering in a half-ruined barn down by the 
river, until Oakley landed a light one on the 
“ mark ! ” Whereupon they both lay around, ex- 
hausted, doubled-up and winded. And a friend- 
ship held — stronger than before. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE MOULD-LOFT 

B UT that joke about a roll in the tar-trough 
pursued Oakley into his new berth in the 
shipyard. Among carpenters the signal 
for his coming was a weird hoot of : “ Oh-h, 

what a mess ! ” or : “ Ever know a ‘ green/ who 

couldn’t see a trap when ’twas under his nose ? ” 
etc.; until sometimes the boy felt inclined to 
“ chuck ” his yard job — flee afar to some covert 
where “ Oh, what a mess ! ” would never again 
bombard his eardrums. 

“ If only I hadn’t flown up in the air, like 
mad ; if I had laughed the loudest, they wouldn’t 
have laughed so long ! ” he told himself from 
depths of wisdom, dearly bought. “Well! all 
I can do, now, is to grin and bear it, till the yard 
gang gets hold of another joke. I must just 
take my medicine — pretty flat medicine it is, 
though, passing up hods of tre’ nails — without 
being a laughing-stock into the bargain ! ” 

It was a monotonous treadmill to one who had 

267 


268 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


never known persistent manual labor before — 
this carrying endless hods of foot-long treenails 
up interminable gangways of staging — to a boy 
who had formerly felt himself sailing ahead, with 
plenty of variety. 

“ It’s a ‘ dead-on-end ’ wind for me, now. 
Thought I knew what a head wind was, before, 
but I guess I didn’t ! ” he would mutter to him- 
self, whimsically, comparing the present flat calm 
of his working routine to sundry tame expe- 
riences when he had made a short trial trip on a 
new vessel with some skipper-friend of his fath- 
er’s. When he had tasted the stagnation of hav- 
ing the wind shift till it was dead against the 
maiden craft; of having to “ beat ” all the way, 
sailing zigzag useless miles tacked on to the 
straight course, in order to progress, at all ! 

Probably, it was the knowledge, begotten of 
these experiences, that no vessel has the wind 
against her all the time, which gave him patience 
to hold on, sticking to the course which ambition 
mapped out. 

“ I’m not going to turn quitter — unless I see 
better reason for it! ” with a flicker of the dead- 
game smile which had brightened a young face 
before in the whitewashed den. Wind may shift 
presently, and I’ll be sailing, with a started sheet ! 
Who knows but it will haul round and be 4 dead 


THE MOULD-LOFT 


269 


favorable/ again, by-and-by? Only — only, I 
wish the yard gang would start a laugh that 
wasn't on me ! ” 

Which in due time came about, for no joke — 
even if it be a nine-day one — can reign for ever ! 
Frenchy was the next butt. 

During a certain noon-hour, Oakley was put- 
ting himself through a self-imposed drill in 
standing up to a saw on a vessel’s side — shear- 
ing off the butt-end of a treenail, left sticking 
raggedly out from raw planking, after main 
portion of the wooden nail had been driven into 
round hole, always bored by the auger too tight 
for it, to allow for shrinkage of the broadside — 
when a visitor made his appearance in the ship- 
yard. 

It was after dinner at that excellent “ board’- 
house,” of which young Rose was now an occu- 
pant; the lad was feeling “fine,” put together, 
all inner chinks calked! Frenchy — plump 
Hyacinthe Leduc — was in the genial mood when 
one might tickle him with a feather. 

“ Sapre ! il va workee — the sone of a gunne,” 
he gurgled placidly, watching Oak’s practice with 
the saw, reviving the term applied to the boy on 
that ever-remembered morning when he had been 
first mistaken for “ sheep-yar’ rat then, for 
“ deadwood hobo!” And as Frenchy watched 


270 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


and criticized, the song never far from his lips — 
he was a veritable bird, while working — sprang 
to them : 

“ Perette est tres mala-de ! Tr la la la la ! 

Son amant vient la voir! Tra la la la la!” 

“ Tra la la la la ! ” caroled Oakley — the toiling 
greenhorn — with laboring breath. “ If 4 Pe- 
rette ’ ever handled a crosscut saw, she’d have 
something to make her 4 very sick ! ’ ” 

44 You seem to be having a pretty good time 
here, friends! May a stranger butt in?” quoth 
the visitor, advancing; he had been halting be- 
neath the shadow of a yellow skeleton, gawky 
vessel-in-frame, displaying all her fifty-four 
naked ribs — beveled frames — branching out 
from the green keel. 44 May a stranger join in? 
I’ve got something here that I’d like to show 
you.” The selling agent’s bag came into evi- 
dence. 

44 What is it?” queried Mitch. 44 Shaving 
cream, warranted to bleach an Indian; if so, 
tackle him — baby hairs just sprouting!” nod- 
ding toward the perspiring Oakley. 44 Oh, it 
isn’t cream! A book!” as the canvasser pro- 
duced a much-gilded volume, history of a girl ce- 
lebrity, with her portrait for frontispiece. 44 Well 
— you go for him! ” with confidential wink, indi- 


THE MOULD-LOFT 


271 


eating Frenchy. “He’s studying English; got 
money to blow in! Don’t come on with the 
goods too soon, though ; talk him over, first : he’s 
a queer bird ! ” 

Which the agent proceeded to do, keeping his 
begilt volume out of sight, seating himself beside 
Hyacinthe — who had bashfully sidled off — on 
a seesawing pile of green lumber. 

“Now we’ll have some fun,” chuckled Cy- 
clone, his elbow facetiously jogging Oakley’s, as 
the latter suspended his drill with the crosscut 
saw, to watch the bargain. 

An easy sale, it promised to be; Frenchy lis- 
tened politely, while the agent pattered off his 
story of the wonderful girl, her beauty and tal- 
ents, laying a further snare for the “ queer bird,” 
by a word or two of ungrammatical French, here 
and there, thrown in ! Of a sudden, at a climax 
of rhetoric, eulogizing the marvelous heroine, 
Frenchy withdrew an exasperated eye from the 
clouds — and demanded, with cannibal shrug : 

“ Mais, ceil ! how you’ll cook her ? How you’ll 
cook her — savez ? ” 

“You don’t ‘cook’ her — you crazy loon — 
she’s a girl: a book! Savez ?” An outraged 
agent glanced helplessly round the shipyard as if 
it were a Congo camping-ground; the ribby scare- 
crows human skeletons! 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


m 

“Jupiter! Frenchy thinks it’s a breakfast- 
food ; the agent’s mixture has got him all tangled 
up between ' livref book and the same word for a 
pound, avoirdupois,” gurgled Oakley, tumbling 
to the situation with lightning laughter. Cy- 
clone, too, was rocking in a perfect gale. 

Thereafter, for a while, Frenchy, not the green- 
horn, was the laugh of the shipyard ! 

So effectual, also, was the drill at odd mo- 
ments with a saw that, at the end of three weeks, 
the novice was considered to have “ got his sec- 
ond coat of paint ” — to be no longer green as a 
newly canted keel — found himself promoted to 
light carpentering work, standing on a strip of 
scaffolding, sawing off a few butt-ends of the 
ten thousand treenails, which held a raw vessel’s 
skin on her bones. 

And a few days before this promotion, mo- 
notony was further broken by a sign in the 
heavens for which he had been eagerly looking: 
by the heavy rain-clouds which foretold a wet 
afternoon — work held up in the shipyard ! 

“ Hurrah for a visit to the mould-loft — the 
mould-loft ’cross the river — by-and-by ! ” re- 
joiced Oakley, knowing that the green stock, all 
round him — unseasoned oak and maple, chiefly 
— whether, already built into vessels or piled in 
the yard, shrinking in a deluge, must be allowed 


THE MOULD-LOFT 


273 


to dry out thoroughly, ere proceedings could be 
resumed. 

A little later, despising umbrella like a true 
skipper’s son, congratulating himself that he was 
not sugar, nor yet shrinking oak, he was scudding 
across the causeway — beneath which the deluge 
lashed the river, with silver whips — humming 
gleefully to raindrops beating in his teeth : 

“’Cross the river Jordon — happy, happy, happy, happy! ” 

Feeling as if he had, in a measure, crossed his 
Jordan — was “ out of the misery,” as he 
phrased it. So he landed in a pool at the mould- 
loft door ! 

It was no “ loft ” exactly, the long, low wooden 
shop, many-windowed, like an unfinished church, 
the floor partially covered with grey sheeting 
paper criss-crossed with an intricate pencil-pat- 
tern, in which fore-body and after-body of a 
vessel, laid down, life-size, in sections, blended 
into one other like a newspaper puzzle. 

Only the genius of the mould-shop, himself, 
could decipher it, separate her bow-lines from 
her tail-feathers! 

“ Come in ! I’m glad to see you. Make your- 
self at home ! ” he said — as a boy’s figure ap- 
peared in the doorway — looking up from his 
difficult occupation of “ getting out ” the moulds 


274 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


for a vessel’s ribs, cutting each frame timber in 
sections, out of white pine, full-sized in length 
and breadth, according to lines of the vessel, laid 
off, upon the floor — But only five-eighths of an 
inch to the foot in thickness as compared with 
stoutness of the rib to be fashioned from it. 

“ You’re a stranger in the town. Your name 
is Rose, isn’t it ? Mr. Damon spoke to me about 
you. Said you hoped to become a naval archi- 
tect one of these fine days — wanted to pick up 
any knowledge you could about the 4 beginnings ’ 
of a vessel in the mould-shop here! Well, ask 
all the questions you like: I’ll answer them, if I 
can ! ” volunteered his host. 

And as the rainy afternoon wore away, Oak 
snugly sheltered became blissfully aware that 
there was no question he could put about the orig- 
inating of a vessel, on which the tall mould-maker, 
Ethan Lawrence, could not shed some light. 
The boy began to lose himself, presently, in a 
perfect storm of unknown or half-comprehended 
terms : amid “ curve of areas,” “ water-planes,” 
“ curve of displacement,” “ centre of gravity,” 
“ centre of buoyancy,” etc. ! 

“ To begin with first principles : probably, you 
understand, already, how, if a vessel is floating 
in perfect balance in still water, the weight of 
water she displaces must exactly equal her own 


THE MOULD-LOFT 


275 


weight, with everything she has on board ! ” com- 
menced his new friend and preceptor — launch- 
ing off into some rudimentary explanation of the 
architect’s nice calculations for displacement. 

“ Here ! I’ll let you see the drawings with which 
he furnishes us — or the blueprint copy of them 
— you’re too young and raw to pick them to 
pieces — crib ideas ! ” The mould-maker laughed. 
“ And his table of measurements ! That will en- 
able me to explain things better. This is the 
‘ sheer drawing ’ of a vessel, being built now in 
the shipyard where you’re working. See ! it con- 
sists of three portions, body-plan, half-breadth 
plan and the sheer plan — latter showing the ves- 
sel in side elevation! 

“ Each of these plans must fair up exactly 
with the other : that’s one reason for ‘ laying off ’ 
the vessel, life-size, on the mould-loft floor: if 
any line should be out the breadth of one hair in 
the design, it would make the difference of an 
inch in the full-sized vessel ! ” 

Oakley caught his breath, staggered : “ Al- 

most ‘ stumps ’ a fellow — doesn’t it — to think 
of the degree of accuracy which must be attained, 
in designing one ? ” he murmured ruefully. 

“ Oh ! don’t be discouraged,” incited his new 
friend laughingly. “ Patience does a whole lot, 
if you keep right at it ! The naval architect takes 


276 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the outside of her in making his drawings, I 
take the inside in laying her off — enlarged — 
so if there’s a hairsbreadth out anywhere we come 
at it! Putting two and two together, I cut her 
moulds! I whittle out a small block model of 
her, too, in white pine — to see how she’ll look, 
when built! By the way, I think you’d be inter- 
ested in seeing some of those models that I keep 
in the loft overhead; one or two are of old- 
fashioned fishing vessels — dead-and-gone Bank- 
ers! I’m not particularly hurried over the get- 
ting out of these moulds. If you like, we’ll go up 
into the loft and bring them down — the mod- 
els ! ” 

For the remainder of that deluging afternoon, 
while rain sang merrily on the pointed roof of 
the mould-shop, Oakley fairly reveled in un- 
earthing dusty treasures of an unrivaled attic — 
a cobwebby seventh heaven for any boy who 
ever loved a boat ! 

One by one, he carried them down a ladder-like 
stairs, for the examination in clear daylight : block 
models of vessels, living and dead, graceful, or 
not, as the case might be, whittled out of white 
pine and black walnut in five different sections 
or “ lifts,” glossy with shellac — zebra-striped, in 
light and dark. 

Over one his admiration fairly bloomed as he 


THE MOULD-LOFT 


m 

dusted it off, with his handkerchief — such a 
“ slick,” striped beauty ! 

“ Yes, that’s a handsome model,” commented 
the “ marine architect and mould-maker.” 
“ Made an able vessel, too — the Edith Connelly 
— don’t know whether she’s alive yet, or not ! ” 

And Oak, having gloated over the miniature 
hull, executed another excursion to the dusty 
seventh heaven, returning, teetering with delight, 
staggering down the ladder, under a bulky three- 
footer ! 

“ Hurrah ! this must be the one the Pilgrims 
came over in ! ” he shouted gleefully, eyeing the 
bunchy model in his arms. “ I guess, she must 
be a model of the Angel Gabriel! ” laughingly, as 
he dusted her off with the handkerchief. “ One 
couldn’t sail very fast in her. My eye! isn’t she 
an armful ? ” 

“ She is — like a woman in crinoline! ” joked 
his new friend. She’s an old ‘ settler,’ dead-an’- 
gone Banker, a bunchy old hooker! My father 
whittled out that model, some fifty years ago. 
Nowadays, we’d cut all that bunchy fullness out 
of her ! ” drawing his pencil along the old set- 
tler’s side, like a surgeon reducing avoirdupois. 

“ Well! I guess I’d nearly as soon give up my 
head as lose those block models and the other 
stuff, stored up in the loft here,” said Ethan 


278 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Lawrence, when the exploring afternoon was 
over. “ You drop into the mould-shop whenever 
you like, Oakley — morning, noon or evening — 
stay as long as possible ! ” he added warmly. 

“ If you have any of your high school books 
with you, keep digging away at your mathematics 
in odd moments — perhaps, I can help you a lit- 
tle — most of what I know I dug for alone,” 
went on this kind mentor. “ There are plenty 
of books on naval architecture, for beginners, of 
course; one I know of, big illustrated volume, 
would be an education in itself, if you could mas- 
ter a third of its contents ! Costs — though ! ” 

“ How much ? ” 

“ Oh, eight or ten dollars ! ” 

“ Too ‘ steep ’ for me ! ” Oakley breathed heav- 
ily, as if already outside the snug shelter, with 
rain in his face. “ I must do without new books, 
at present, unless my uncle should come in with a 
‘monster trip of fish,’ and buy them for me!” 
laughter bubbling again. “ He’s ’way off in the 
neighborhood of Green Bank — fresh halibuting 
— • just now.” 

At intervals, the boy kept hugging that golden 
vision of the little Dorcas Bliss coming in ’long- 
side her Gloucester wharf, laden to the hatches 
with a full fare, her grizzled skipper keeping up 
his reputation as a king pin in the fishing fleet; 


THE MOULD-LOFT 279 

in divers ways, beside new books, Oakley saw 
his own “ ship coming home,” with her ! 

He felt as if after a fashion it had come home, 
to-day, that ship of fortune, bearing him a new 
friend, as he leaned against the mould-loft door 

— restlessly swallowing as if he had “ a frog in 
his throat.” 

Presently he dragged forth the frog; the tick- 
ling emotion: “ You’ll let me do something for 
you , ‘ Professor ? ’ ” he got off, reddening ear- 
nestly. “ Carry moulds or messages over to the 
shipyards — anything? You — you’re so kind 

— helping me along ! ” 

“ Professor ” looked down into young eyes, 
blinking as if they caught drops from the eaves: 
“ Don’t you worry, Oak boy,” he said ; “ sooner 
or later, we all get a chance to pay our debts ! I 
guess you and I will fit into each other, all 
right!” 

As a lad raced across the causeway again, the 
soft rain-drops — mere drizzle now — seemed 
lightly harping on one string to his singing heart : 
“ Sooner or later, we all get a chance to pay our 
debts ! Sooner — or later ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX 
fortune’s shabby trick 

T HEREAFTER, the shipyard novice 
found himself eagerly watching for an- 
other sign in the heavens : for the cloud 
no bigger than a man’s hand which spreading to a 
grey and ragged nimbus would foretell wet 
forenoon or afternoon — leisure, short or long, 
to be spent in that birthplace of vessels, the 
mould-loft ! 

The church-like building amid trees, with its 
grey, sheeted floor and pointed roof — over the 
door of which might truly be emblazoned a motto 
of Oakley’s High School days: “ Laborare est 
or are! ” seeing that, here, the architect’s pur- 
pose for a vessel first began to take shape; that 
countless lives of men hung upon work done 
by one man, within — that building became, at 
once, the boy’s laboratory and campus, lecture- 
room and playground. 

Yet, by a strange freak of fate, on its threshold 
he was to get the hardest knock of all which, yet, 
280 


FORTUNE’S SHABBY TRICK 281 


assailed him on the rocky road to success which 
he had set out to travel ! 

November was nearing a “ dry ending,” in 
more senses than one. For many days there had 
been no rain to speak of! Nor any pleasurable 
windfall, either, in the shape of breezy Latin 
School boy, descending on quiet town and toiling 
friend, like a fresh flurry! Also, there was no 
word of the Dorcas Bliss , already due in. 

And toil in the shipyard, even, the “ light-car- 
pentering ” to which a novice had been promoted 
— sawing off treenail-butt after treenail-butt 
which the heavy beetle had whanged into nar- 
row auger-hole, like fat finger into tight glove — 
seemed again a weary round of hard word and 
monotony. 

“ Heigh-ho ! sometimes, I feel ready to ‘ jump ’ 
my job here — look for one, elsewhere!” he 
grumbled to Mitch, on a certain forenoon, stretch- 
ing an aching back. “ But I guess I won’t — ” 
this to himself, a minute later — “ guess I’ll stick 
to the course till the breeze shifts ! ” laughing 
through gritted teeth, little dreaming that before 
nightfall it would seem to hold out a chance of 
veering round to a “ dead favorable ” point — 
only to drop back to the same flat old “ dead-on- 
ender,” as before. 

In the afternoon, at long last, rain-clouds gath- 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


283 

ered. Ship-carpenters had to knock off work 
with the first sprinkle. Oakley found himself 
“ shinning ” across the causeway to his paradise 
over the river — hope bubbling uppermost again 
— with, it is to be feared, little thought of fath- 
ers of families who would be out half a day’s 
wage owing to the persistent drizzle. 

As generally happened, there was a small bunch 
of loungers hanging round the mould-loft door, 
gazing in as if ’twere a church which they had 
not made up their minds to enter. 

Oakley was about to jump the threshold with 
a damply exuberant : “ Hullo, ‘ Professor/ how’s 
the world looking ? ” when a hand seemed to 
strike him flat on the forehead. He staggered 
aside amid the peeping loungers — seeing stars! 
Blazing stars ! Shooting stars ! A whole firma- 
ment of them ! 

“ Professor ” had company. A stranger bent, 
with him, over the chalked lines of some craft, 
laid off upon the long shadowy floor, evidently 
fairing up the design, to make sure that there was 
not a hair’s breadth out anywhere in the archi- 
tect’s drawings. 

The visitor was broad-shouldered — in city 
dress. His back was toward a panting boy, peep- 
ing with other inquisitive ones, round dripping 
door-frame. Now ! he half turned : was, for a 


FORTUNE’S SHABBY TRICK 283 


moment, broadside on. That boy caught a 
glimpse of a strong profile; and his heart did a 
pole-vault in his body. 

It was as if the profile touched a switch, turning 
on a white flood of electric light, in which a 
peeping spectator saw no grey-sheeted shop floor, 
with curly shavings, penciled puzzle, litter of 
pine-moulds! But foggy trestle, sliding car — 
mimic Indian, with tie-prisoned leg! 

Again Oakley felt the shallow marsh-flood’s 
grip upon him, while from on high — the veiled 
skies, as it were, above fog — dropped a ve- 
hement voice which ran like subtle fire along 
each nerve in his body : “ By George ! that fel- 
low made a ‘ three-bagger! . . . Fine! Fine! 

Quick play — good work! * 

“ It — it’s him: I knew I’d see him again — 
some time ! ” 

The half-spoken words waded forth like a sob 
in a river of light as — here in the country mould- 
loft — a lad identified that strong rock-face, 
touched with good-fellowship and humor. 

He recognized the man-passenger who, with 
Greengage, had dropped down from a blundering 
car, to pat him on the back as he struggled ashore 
amid shaggy sand-knolls of the marshes near his 
old home — burdened with “ Rag ” and the 
roaming Teddy bear! The man who had con- 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


284 

trived to make a boy-rescuer feel himself “ It,” 
for five minutes ! 

Simultaneously, he became aware of two facts : 
that “ Professor ” glanced toward the door, with 
rapt, preoccupied face which held no invitation 
to enter; and that the stranger was getting in 
some “quick play,” too — jerking broad shoul- 
ders erect, and looking at his watch. 

“Jove! I had no idea ’twas so late,” he 
gasped. “ I have to catch the five train to Bos- 
ton, must make a bee-line for the hotel and get 
some dinner ! Clean forgot all about it ! ” with a 
boyish laugh. “ Good-bye, Mr. Lawrence, I’ve 
enjoyed working with you. So long! ” he shook 
hands, brushed by the group at the doorway with 
a hurried hail-fellow nod — was gone — before 
Oakley could brush away cobwebs which had 
gathered before his eyes at the sudden movement ! 

“ Boys ! do you know who that is ? ” Ethan 
came slowly forward, addressing the gaping 
bunch at the doorway, with a luminous look. 
“ That’s one of the first naval architects in the 
State!” 

“Not — not — ?” Oakley, gaspingly men- 
tioned the name of a designer, famous along the 
waterfronts for drawing the lines of whole fleets 
of glorified “ fishermen,” fast prize-winners — 
new knockabouts — whose reputation was allied 


FORTUNE’S SHABBY TRICK 285 


with almost every “ corking craft ” he knew ! 

“ No — not him ! This is a younger man — 
Hall Godfrey — lately come to the front, goes 
in for designing fine yachts, mostly. Society has 
made a favorite of him, they say; I hear he has 
a fine office! 

“ Came down here to work with me over 
the fairing up of plans for a big schooner yacht 
that he’s getting out for a multi-millionaire ; she’s 
to be built in Essex! Other work has come his 
way, too : he designed the five-masted freighters, 
Ideal and Hazard. Great Scott! I wish I had 
thought of speaking to him about you, Oak. 
He’s the very man, I should say, to give an am- 
bitious young fellow a boost. Might have of- 
fered you a beginner’s berth in his office,” with 
an imaginative laugh. “ Well — he’ll probably 
be down again — ” The last words were given 
to the sobbing rain, so far as Oakley was con- 
cerned ! 

A boy was racing down a green hill, putting 
for the town, at “ mad clip ! ” What he meant 
to do, he hardly knew! His first wild impulse 
was to storm the hotel and its distinguished vis- 
itor! Something held him back: something in- 
herited from a life-saving father, whose lips could 
not be pried open to revive his own deeds of 
heroism. 


286 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“If he hadn’t been on the car that night, I’d 
see him, or — ‘ bust something ! ’ ” he moaned 
passionately, halting in wet twilight of the No- 
vember evening, beneath winking street lamp, on 
duty as the moon was out of commission. “ If 
I force myself on him, now, he may think that I 
want to ‘ work a pull ’ out of that three-bagger — 
out of what he called ' good work !’ I wouldn’t 
have him think that, if I never ‘ get there ! ’ ” 
with kicking gasps. 

Rain streaked down: he was wet outside, on 
fire, within ! Perhaps, here — solitary, drenched 
loiterer, on deserted street — here, under the oil- 
lamp’s watery wink, the stranger, Hall God- 
frey, whose name he heard for the first time, yet 
who, on those foggy marshes, seemed to come 
into his life to stay would recognize him? The 
hotel-door opened. Something ticked in a boy’s 
throat, like a compressed-air drill ! 

He made a half-step forward. But the great 
man, he who had already “ got there,” wrestling 
with balky umbrella against the wet-winged 
gusts, never noticed a pathetic figure — shoulders 
hunched to dripping ears — waylaying him ! 

Already he was past — half way to the rail- 
way station! And the waylayer, wet inside as 
out, now, head hanging, shuffled off to his board- 
ing-house, with a forlorn feeling that life had 
played him its shabbiest trick! 


CHAPTER XX 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 

44 T TULLO! Oakie, old man, what 
I I have you been doing with your- 
self? Hurrah! I’ve got news for 
you. The herring-pot is boiling in the river! 
And — do you know who’s staying at the ho- 
tel?” 

It was “ Greengage ” who thus bubbled over, 
boisterously seizing upon Oakley, as the latter 
emerged from the shipyard and his day’s work, 
over a week later. 

“I’ve just popped down from Salem — going 
to stay over till Monday morning! Herring 
are boiling high up in the river! And guess 
who’s staying at the hotel ? ” 

The young workman, with arms aching from 
sawing off treenail butts, caught his breath. His 
heart seemed to do another series of pole-vaults 
in his tired body. “ Could it be Godfrey who 
was down here again, working with Ethan Law- 
rence in the mould-loft, over the fairing up of 
287 


288 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


plans for that millionaire’s yacht which he had 
designed ? ” 

To Oakley, the naval architect who had “ got 
there,” was like Julius Caesar or George Wash- 
ington, too big a personage to be “ Mistered,” 
save to his face! Gage’s next words knocked 
his hope flat. 

“ It’s my uncle who’s visiting here ; my 
father’s brother,” ran on the schoolboy, Gage’s 
father was dead, “ the Honorable Joseph Brad- 
bury Green — direct descendant of Goodman 
Bradbury, colonist — and United States Con- 
gressman: he’s perfectly splendid — Uncle Joe 
is!” 

“ That’s pretty nice for you.” Oakley smiled, 
rather wistfully. 

“ Oh, you’re in it, too ! He wants us to take 
him down the river to-night — torching for her- 
ring ! He used to live in Essex when a boy, and 
go herring-torching; thinks he’d like to feel 
a few ‘ old sensations,’ again ; that’s what he 
said ! Asked me to arrange about hiring a 
boat, and go with him; of course, I shoved 
you in, too, said I had a friend who could row 
like a fiend ! ” laughingly. 

“ That was decent of you, Gage ! ” Oakley 
brightened. “ But perhaps your uncle won't 
want me ? ” The young ship-carpenter’s tired 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


289 


face shone however : amid sundry ups and downs 
of carving one’s way, it was prime to feel that a 
fellow had a friend like this schoolboy of the 
“ Plummy ” nickname ; neither snob nor 
“ Willy,” and never two-sided! 

“Yes; he will, too! I’ve been telling him a 
lot about Oakley Rose. He said to be sure and 
bring you along! Don’t wait for supper at the 
boarding-house; we’re taking a basket of swell 
grub with us in the boat! No need to change 
your ‘ working rig ’ either; come just as you are! 
We’re starting — ” 

“Is it like this? You’re dreaming!” gasped 
the tired workman, with look askance at his worn, 
baggy trouser-knees as he shot past the other. 
“ Thank goodness, I’ve a clean 4 sweater ! ’ ” was 
his jubilant thought while he wrestled into that 
tight garment in winged haste, blowing like a 
young whale, just come up into the sunlight, to 
breathe. 

Ruddy — glossy — from soap and water, eyes 
glowing with furtive fire at the novel prospect of 
a herring-torching trip, in august company — 
reddish-brown crop hurriedly brushed, but re- 
maining independent — a young shipyard em- 
ployee presented a spirited appearance which 
made the Latin School boy rather proud to pre- 
sent him as “ My friend, Oakley Rose ! ” 


290 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ I’m glad you’re able to come with us,” said 
the genial Congressman, fresh from Washing- 
ton. “Gage! I’ll let you boys row at first: I’ll 
take it easy, and renew my acquaintance with the 
river,” stepping into the stern of a large dory 
rocking beside the boat-slip, chartered by Green- 
gage for the night-torching. “ When you young 
fellows find yourselves with more surplus sensa- 
tions than you can comfortably manage, I’ll take 
over a few of them, second-hand, and imagine 
I’m sixteen, again ! ” 

Sensations were rampant, to-night! First, 
there was the jovial picnic — evening meal of 
the best the town afforded, spread upon thwarts 
of the dory, partaken of with equal zest, by 
hungry rowers and distinguished host, himself. 
While the early dusk of a still, balmy November 
evening, last of a late Indian summer, folded its 
grey wings about the picnickers! 

Then, when bodies were fortified, and spirits 
keyed high, came the long row of two or three 
miles downstream. 

“ They’re boiling high up in the river — the 
herring! Pete Landgren told me so,” panted 
Gage, waxing breathless over his dory oar, after 
a long-winded pull : during October and Novem- 
ber, Pete was an hourly budget on the move- 
ments of herring. 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


291 


“ See, we’re almost upon them ! ” glancing 
ahead over his shoulder, with suspended oar. 
See them boil . Jupiter! the water’s on fire with 
them — never saw such a herring show before ! ” 

“ Got your torch all ready — and the net ? ” 
questioned the Congressman, steering with an 
oar. There was a slight tremor in the resonant 
voice, wont to thrill multitudes: obviously the 
structure which years had built up about him, 
was dropping away; the Boy who is father to 
the man and lives always at his core, was on the 
river, to-night. 

“ All ready, sir ! ” Oakley was clambering 
noiselessly forward into the bow. Presently, the 
river was ablaze, all basking and eddying in the 
light of his dazzling luminary, the torch consist- 
ing of several knots of resinous pitch-pine, in iron 
“ basket,” in the dory’s bow. 

“ Great Caesar ! they’re shoaling in solid rafts, 
ahead. You could get out an’ walk on them! 
Skate downstream to Ipswich Bay!” joked the 
light-tender, pinching off an excited cry. “ See 
’em boil! And the other boats, before us, right 
in the thick — dipping them up, like leaves ! ” 

“ See them boil ! ” It was the rally-cry of the 
evening. 

Bubbling, seething — shimmering with phos- 
phorescent sparkles — the river, far as one could 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


see ahead, was a lake of gleams ; on fire with her- 
ring, as Gage said ! 

Here, there, everywhere, across its shimmering 
surface, glided the brilliant torches, set in 
multiple dory-bows, like luminaries of some de- 
mented solar system, which had eluded gravita- 
tion and run wild in space ! 

“ If our pitch-pine gives out, I’ve plenty of 
cotton batting and kerosene; that makes a cork- 
ing flare-up ! ” suggested Gage ecstatically, kick- 
ing a soft roll at his feet. “ One little sprint 
ahead, Oakie ; and we’re in among them ! Swing 
her round, now ! Quick — quick ! Come on 
with the net! See ’em boiling ’longside! ” in 
smothered squeal. “ Don’t they make a show 
in the water? ” 

“ Just mobbing the light ! ” supplemented the 
bearded Congressman, a trace of excitement in 
his low tones. “ Great commotion in the her- 
ring world : astronomers ‘ rattled ’ : twenty new 
suns appear ! ” he ran on, with boyish levity. 
“ Dip them up, lads ! Dip them up ! ” And 
hands which helped to pilot the ship of state, 
steered a dory in among the shoaling herring, 
bubbling three or four deep in an iridescent raft 
round the boat, with its pitch-pine orb ! 

“ See them * slithering ’ over one another’s 
backs, to get at the light boiling up round it ! ” 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


293 


twanged Oakley, under his breath, as if jerking 
on a taut string. “Hush! Hush! Mum's the 
word! Let them do the singing! ” as a seething 
mass swished against the boat’s sides. 

He was standing erect, at the moment, bal- 
ancing himself on middle plank of the dory, 
grasping a pole, some six feet long, from the 
end of which drooped the capacious pocket-net 
of coarse twine-mesh, ringed round the mouth 
with an iron hoop ! 

Overboard it went, that twine pocket, 
plunging deep amid the phosphorescent rafts, 
scooping a breach, which was filled up instantly 
by other “ hypnotized fish ” — boiling, shoaling, 
cutting capers — like silvery leaves, driven by a 
wild ground-gust! 

“Stand by! Stand by, to help dip them in, 
Gagie ! ” panted the fisherman, tottering between 
excitement and exertion, bearing with all his 
strength on the long pole. 

Up came net, filled almost to bursting! As 
Gage seized the iron hoop, to help, it was swept 
over the side, and a pile of herring, glistening 
like gold-fish in the ambient torchlight, were 
spilled into the dory’s bottom, breathing their 
last on the catch ! 

“ ‘ Herring to right of them, herring to left 
of them, herring in front of them squirmed and 


294 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


blundered ! ’ ” parodied the Latin School boy, 
fairly on fire like the water. “ Here ! Here ! 
Let me take the pole and dip them up! Stand 
by, to grab the hoop ! ” 

Thus the catch went on — a bearded politician 
taking his turn at wielding pole and net, with a 
hilarity which showed that the Boy was still on 
deck, and he had no need to borrow sensations. 

“ Oh, bother ! the torch is burning out — and 
we have only one little splinter of pitch-pine left : 
that isn’t enough to make a dogfish drop his her- 
ring,” grumbled Oakley, in humorous vexation. 
“ Never mind ! Come on with your cotton bat- 
ting and the kerosene, Gage ! ” 

An oil-soaked roll, set in the iron basket, 
was presently shedding a wilder glare over the 
beaded river! Around it, the fish greedily rab- 
bled, while each little filmy bubble on the water 
glittered like a fairy’s lamp ! 

“If the dogfish were around, he’d make short 
work of the herring; we wouldn’t land many of 
them!” laughed Congressman Joe. “I guess, 
we won’t prey on them any more, either; I only 
wanted to recall some old sensations, boys, and 
you’ve given me a night to remember ! ” 

So the dory was headed upstream again — 
the roll of oil-soaked cotton in the bow, still 
flaming like the wild eye of some water dragon 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


295 


— pursued by the herring in a bubbly ferment! 

“ Do you know what this reminds me of, 
boys?” asked the Honorable Joseph, presently. 
“ Of a night long ago, when I was herring- 
torching with my father over in Ipswich Bay, in 
a spot which they call the Basin, where there are 
only two entrance currents! When the fish get 
in, they can’t get out again easily; they shoal 
there, packed like sardines. Boats go sliding 
over them as they dip them up ! ” 

“ Well! there were thirty or forty dories, each 
with its flaring torch, flitting round in the Basin, 
that night, like blazing comets! It was hard 
to avoid running into each other. I was four- 
teen at the time; and I would stand up in the 
boat — would hold the pole, and drop over the 
net, to dip them in! Suddenly, bumpitty-bump ! 
another dory collided with us. I lost my bal- 
ance. Over we went, the net and I : ‘ down — 
down — down among the dead men,’ as it 
felt to me — with the cool, slippery bodies of 
the fish whipping me in the face, flicking my 
eyes out, so it seemed — going through my hair, 
as if ’twere seaweed — by George! I thought 
they were going to eat me up.” 

The bearded politician stopped to laugh ; while 
two boys hung on their oars, listening, agape. 

“ Ye gods and little fishes ! didn’t I just yell 


296 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


when I came to the surface?” added the Con- 
gressman, wiping his eyes. “ Father pulled me 
out with a boat-hook; I was still holding fast to 
the long pole, so he landed a few herring in the 
net along with me ! ” 

“ Trust you , not to let go, uncle! ” murmured 
Gage, appreciatively. “ I guess, you could lay 
over most in the quality of holding on ! ” with 
flattering laugh. 

“ It strikes me that you boys have held on to 
those oars too long!” was the retort. “Want 
me to ‘ spell you ’ ? Oakley must be tired, if he 
has worked in the shipyard, all day? ” 

“ Pshaw — not he ! He’s a regular hummer 
at an oar! Could row a dory since he was 
knee-high to one; isn’t that so, Oakie? ” laughed 
the schoolboy answering for his friend. 

Nevertheless, the Honorable Joseph insisted on 
“ spelling ” each in turn, while he turned the 
fragmentary talk on matters that lay nearest to 
boyish hearts, questioning Gage concerning high 
school league games, and his progress in fourth- 
class studies — as to what prizes he hoped to win, 
etc. — drawing Oakley out about boats and ves- 
sels, getting at his hope of a naval architect’s ca- 
reer! 

“ Well, boys, you’ve given me the time o’ my 
life — as an Irishman would say ! ” he laughed, 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


297 

as they neared the boat-slip, gliding stealthily 
past a sleeping town. “ Must be nearly mid- 
night; fancy a man of my age on the river, at 
this hour, literally burning the midnight oil — 
and rank kerosene, at that ! ” laughingly. 

“ The moon is rising, now ; she kept out of the 
way earlier, so as not to interfere with our lumi- 
naries, went on the jesting speaker. “ To me 
herring-torching is better sport than jacking for 
deer, on forest ponds — because infinitely less 
cruel ! 

“ Biologists tell us that fish don’t suffer, at 
worst, more than we would in a bad dream. To 
be sure, a nightmare isn’t pleasant — but with 
the herring, the dream is so short, I doubt if they 
feel it, at all ! Even as a boy, I never could go 
in for eel-spearing, in the mud-flats — jacking for 
eel, with bright lamp and powerful reflector, set 
on the bank, using a five-tined fork for spear! 
Eels are more warm-blooded, live longer; the 
sport — if there is any — is too dearly bought ! 

“ Still, less, do I approve of dragging round 
rifle or shotgun, plugging merry little marsh or 
grass birds, which suffer keenly, or worrying a 
wretched chipmunk out of its hole! Take my 
advice, boys : learn to use your fists, man-fashion, 
in self-defense, leave the practising with fire- 
arms alone, if it means onslaught on things 


298 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


weaker than yourselves! Well! we’re getting in 
alongside the slip, now ! After this little ‘ ser- 
monette,’ I’ll leave you young bloods to 
tie up the boat ! Gagie, I’m going to the hotel — 
and to sleep! Mind; I don’t wish to be dis- 
turbed again, to-night ! ” 

“ No, uncle!” returned the nephew, rather 
mystified, blinking disconcertedly in the dark- 
ness. 

“ Good night, Oakley, my boy ! Glad to have 
met you! Come and see me some time, with 
Gage ! ” The member shook hands, stepped up 
the slip, onto an adjoining wharf, his tall 
figure looming spectre-like, under rising white- 
ness of the moon. 

Of a sudden, he stopped, stooped down — 
stooped again — seemed to be practising some 
black magic on the midnight wharf ! 

“What on earth is he up to?” queried the 
nephew, in a semi-articulate quaver. “ Never 
knew Uncle Joe to act so queerly before.” 

“ Hullo there ! Gage,” called back a clearly 
ringing voice. “ Got any more of that inflam- 
mable pitch-pine with you ? ” 

“ Yes, uncle; just a little splinter! ” 

“ Well, light it, and look under this stone — 
the one my foot’s on, now! Tell Oakley to lift 
the other! Good-night: mind, I’m going to 


MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


299 


sleep; don’t wish to be disturbed again! I re- 
member when I was a boy in Latin School my- 
self!” 

With this cryptic utterance the tall, black-coated 
wizard vanished into the night. 

Next instant there was the bleat of a match 
down by the river. Greengage, who had been in 
act of mooring the boat, was leaping up the slip, 
like some landing pirate, or lawless wrecker — 
waving the flaming pitch-pine splinter aloft — 
Oakley at his heels! 

The schoolboy lifted a jagged stone, a frag- 
ment of broken granite coping belonging to the 
disused wharf on which the magician had set 
foot, and let out a goblin-cry, that woke the 
echoes ! 

“ Gr-r-reat Scusen ! ” he stammered. “ A ten- 
dollar-bill ! ” waving a flimsy something, that 
looked like tiny green flag, close to the flaring 
pine-splinter. “ A crisp, new X ! If — if that’s 
not like Uncle Joe! Let’s turn over your stone, 
Oak ! Gee whiz ! exploring stockings on Christ- 
mas morning when we were kids, wasn’t in it, 
with this ! ” waving his torch on high at arm’s 
length, as he swooped down on the second rock 
of buried treasure. 

“ Another — another ten-dollar ‘ greeny ! ’ ” 
gasped Oakley, in tones of muffled excitement. 


300 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ It’s too much : don’t know that I ought to take 
it — didn’t want to be paid for to-night — any- 
how ! ” Fisherman’s generous blood in him 
speaking. 

“You bet; I’ll ‘ take it!’” Greengage did 
a jiggy two-step, flaunting his torch to and fro 
before the other’s face. “ So will you — you big 
chump! if I force it down your throat, with a 
thole-pin from the boat. Uncle Joe knew we 
didn’t either of us want — expect — to be paid, 
for doing our mortal best to give him a good 
time. If he had thought we had any such thing 
in mind, he’d have paid us, but — but not this 
way, not in ten-dollar bills ! 

“ He reads fellows ! ” ran on the Congress- 
man’s nephew. “ Knew you, as well as I, 
would freely have rowed double the distance, to 
please him! He doesn’t mean this as pay, ex- 
actly — only, a friendly ‘ tip ’ for pocket-money, 
such as he gives me, whenever he comes here! 
Hurrah! I’ve wanted some new baseball 
flannels badly; mother didn’t think she could get 
them for me — ” 

“ That book on naval architecture for — ‘ for 
mine ! ’ ” murmured Oakley, with a choke in his 
throat. “ Or a cheaper one — some new com- 
passes and celluloid 4 ship’s curves,’ to help in 
mechanical drawing t Oh! I say he is splendid , 



“ A ten-doll.au bill ! ” — Page 299 



* 










































I • ' 













MIDNIGHT TORCHING 


301 


your uncle,” his eyes, like Gage's, reflecting the 
pine flame in a dozen scintillas of light. “ And 
haven’t we just had a bully good time, all the 
evening? ” 

“Well! the shipyard ladder is certainly a see- 
sawing one ! ” Thus a young shipwright rumi- 
nated, half-an-hour later, laying a tired head on 
his pillow, after parting with Gage. “ One week 
you’re down — the next up : well, what’s the 
odds, so long’s it doesn’t shake a fellow off ? I’d 
be feeling gay as a lark, now, if only Uncle 
Ceeph was back — if the little Dorcas Bliss 
wasn’t so long over-due ! ” 

He never dreamed how the next wobble of his 
self-erected ladder would “ shake him off ” lit- 
erally — if not figuratively ! 

Some eleven days later, after November had 
died a stormy death, and December come in — 
frosty, bright — a young fellow was standing 
aloft on some scaffolding, ten feet from the 
ground, sawing off treenail ends, handling the 
crosscut saw, now, with expert swing. 

“ How’s the weather, up there, Oak ? ” cried 
Andy Mitchell, from below. 

“ Oh ! fine,” rang down the uncowed answer. 
“ A little grain cold — and a little mite 
‘ slippy ! ’ ” laughingly. 

Simultaneously, there was the buzz of a deep, 


SO 2 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


new voice below — not strange exactly — to 
Oak the bunch of years since his childhood 
seemed, suddenly, to take on shape — a tongue 
— and speak ! A tremor from his arm shook the 
saw. 

“ Why — hullo, Cap ! ” he heard the yard fore- 
man cry at the self-same moment. “ Y m 
mighty glad to see you back — safe an * sound! 
What of the little Dorcas: did you bring her 
home, all right? You were quite a while over- 
due ! ” 

“ The — Dorcas ? ” The voice which was not 
of the shipyard rang like a beaten soldier's, 
hoarse with the strain of past battle. “ The Dor- 
cas Bliss ? ” raspingly. “ Last I saw of her, she 
was burning to the water’s edge. She was 
thrown down — hove down ! ” 

“ ‘ Thrown down ! ’ ” The youth on the nar- 
row ledge of staging, glassy with frost, was turn- 
ing, to leap to earth, as the words caught and 
shook him. “Hove down!” he made a back- 
ward, reeling step, slipped, fell — like a broken 
ship’s prop — at the feet of the skipper-uncle, 
who was to have returned rich from Johnny 
Campbell’s Spot — a plunder-laden Viking! 


CHAPTER XXI 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 

££ T T ULLO ! Uncle Ceeph, won’t you 
I I speak to a fellow ? ” Oakley was 
struggling to his feet, dazed, 
shaken, but not hurt, beyond a bruise or two, by 
his fall on the matted shavings. “ Won’t you 
speak to a fellow?” with a wildfire joy in his 
eyes, not pausing even to pluck away a shaving 
which had curled itself onto one ear. 

“ Why, it’s you — Oakley! ” gasped the buf- 
feted tones which had told of a vessel’s being hove 
down. “ I half expected to find you here, lad : 
you needn’t think you’re springing a surprise 
party on me.” 

A man of medium height, with tanned face, 
sorrow-spotted just now, but with an eye under 
his iron-grey hair holding a fire which the sea 
that hove him down, had failed to quench, ex- 
tended a hand whose grasp Oakley knew of old, 
big and warm as a tea-kettle! 

“ I should hardly have known you, lad,” went 
303 


304 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


on the breezy tones, rather intermittent and gusty 
as of one who is accustomed to pit his orders 
against the wind’s, but “ hearty as ever ! ” as 
the nephew said to himself with swimming eyes. 
“ You’re almost a six-footer ; never saw a fellow 
stretch as you have done ! Whatever have I 
been about, while you were growing away up 
there?” with an attempt at jollity. 

“ Sleeping, I guess” joked the grandnephew, 
feeling more breeze in his own sails than he had 
done for many a day. 

“ Sleeping — not much ! ” flung back the new- 
comer, with a little moisture in his eye, and a 
shrillness of voice, as if the wind had suddenly 
hauled round to the east. “ I tell you, old son, 
if you’d been through such hard times as I’ve 
weathered in the past few weeks, you’d think 
sleep and you weren’t shipmates any longer ! ” 

“ I didn’t bring home the little Dorcas , lad : the 
Bliss is drifting, a blackened hulk, heaven knows 
where, burned to the water’s edge. She was an 
able vessel, too ! ” 

“ I want to know ! ” quavered the foreman’s 
voice, with sorrowful ring. “ And I’m the boy 
who built her! ” 

Involuntarily, the master-shipwright’s eye 
lifted itself toward other vessels on the stocks 
which he was “ building,” too in the sense of 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


305 


overseeing each frame and plank that went into 
them. 

There was something sadly dramatic about 
hearing the story of one’s vessel’s tragic fate in 
the midst of these others, being prepared like 
soldiers for their battle with the deep. It was 
almost like seeing a warrior brought home dead, 
amid his live comrades! 

The skipper of the “ dead ” Dorcas , too, passed 
a hand over his eyes, as if to shut out something; 
then swung off on another tack. 

“ I heard last night, directly we arrived in 
Gloucester from New York, that I had a nephew 
working up here, in one of the shipyards,” he 
said. “ I met Mr. Justin Harvey, belonging to 
the firm of Harvey & Swan, on the street ; he told 
me. Told me of other changes, too, which had 
taken place while I was ’way off on the fishing 
grounds ! ” in lowered tones. Directly I had re- 
ported to the Dorcas' owners — I had a quarter 
share in her, myself — I started for Essex, to 
look up that young rapscallion of a nephew. 
Guess I rather wanted to see some one of my 
own blood again, after the bumping round I’d 
had!” 

The self-same feeling had been at work in 
Oakley; his eyes met those of the grizzled skip- 
per, and a grey fog of loneliness lifted from man 


306 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


and boy. To the lad, it mattered nothing, at 
the moment, that such golden hopes as he had 
built up about the return of the Dorcas, were 
consumed with her, so long as this one sea-tossed 
relative was safe. 

“ But what took you away off to New York? ” 
he questioned presently. 

“ That’s where the 4 yarn 9 comes in ! ” Cap- 
tain Ceeph hoarsely answered. “We had filled 
up well in the neighborhood of Green Bank, 
about a hundred and thirty miles off Sable Island, 
had wet down all our salt, were driving for home 
with some forty thousand pounds o’ halibut, 
aboard — wind from the no’the east, favoring us. 
Well, boy, we made a pretty run till, off Cape 
Sable, wind hauled to the sou’west. It kept 
breezing up an’ breezing up, till we found our- 
selves bucking against a sou’westerly gale and 
bad sea. I put her about, kept her driving 
through it — all night long driving through it — 
while it seemed to blow from all points at once, 
a ripping gale ! ” 

Neither listener interrupted by a word; on 
staging near at hand, ship-carpenters held up 
shrilling auger, screaming saw, thundering beetle, 
to listen; the preliminary tempest of noises sur- 
rounding another vessel’s building was tempo- 
rarily hushed. 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


307 


u Well, ’twas about nine o’clock in the morn- 
ing that I dropped below to get a ‘ kink ’ — few 
minutes’ rest! I tell you, boys, I was that stiff 
I could scarcely stand from being hours at the 
wheel, seas washing right over me, pressing in 
under my oil-clothes, till I was wet to the skin. 

“ Wind was moderating some, then. Next 
thing I knew I was wetter still ! ” with a forced 
laugh. “ Tons of water were pouring down the 
cabin companionway — I hadn’t drawn the slide 
tight over — almost swamping me in my 
stateroom ! I jumped to see what had happened, 
of course: the last big sea — wind-up, after the 
blow moderates — had struck her, thrown her 
down! 

“ How I fought my way on deck, Lord only 
knows ! She was laying over till her spars 
dipped: had it been night we’d all have gone. 
Even in daylight we stood a poor show! I 
gave the order to ‘ Cut away everything ! ’ 
Well,” slowly, “ well, sir ! she came back on her 
feet. She righted, but she was a hard sight: 
spars, bulwarks, windlass, everything gone! 
You may think how that big sea had raked her 
when we found ashes from the fo’c’s’le stove 
atop of the wainscoting in the cabin, aft ! ” 

“ I want to know ! ” quavered the foreman 
again. “ And I’m the boy who built her! ” 


308 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ For two days we drifted on the stripped hull ; 
then, were taken off by a tramp steamer, bound 
for New York.” 

“ What became of the Dorcas f ” questioned 
Oakley, in muffled tones. 

“ Captain of the tramp told me I had better 
‘ fire ’ her ; couldn’t leave her drifting- on the 
high seas, a menace to other craft. I had to go 
back aboard her, with some old trawl lines — a 
can of kerosene — ” The skipper’s voice 
broke; he turned aside: to fire the good 
deck which had upborne him for two hard 
months seemed little less than a human sac- 
rifice ! “ She was an able vessel, too,” he 

muttered again. “ Well, pretty nearly all I had 
went in her ! I’d have done better to stay ashore 
on my bit of a farm off there in the woods, learn- 
ing how to handle that fisty-eyed shark of a red 
cow ! ” coming back on his feet after temporary 
submerging by a wave of feeling. 

Later, at noon-hour, when he was alone with 
Oakley, another wave of emotion threatened to 
engulf this grizzled soldier of the deep. 

“ It was from Mr. Harvey, too, that I heard 
about your grandfather,” he began unsteadily, 
“ He told me how John Rose had ‘ stepped out! ’ 
Lad ! I want to tell you, when that big sea struck 
us, and I thought I was being floated out , the one 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


309 


thing that life hove up to me, was the words I 
had flung at him that time when our smoke-house 
burned down. I meant to have another shot 
at unsaying them before I sailed last trip, was 
intending it, for the last five years — didn’t half 
mean them at the time either — John Rose was 
the whitest man I ever knew ! ” 

The boy’s eyes flashed. His throat heaved 
with a long sob. 

“ He didn’t lay it up against you, Uncle 
Ceeph,” he murmured. “That — that very last 
night, he asked me to look you up and bring you 
to see him ! But,” after a pause, feeling explod- 
ing against the miscreant in the misunderstand- 
ing, “ but I wish I could get hold of anyone 
belonging to the villain who made mischief be- 
tween you — he — ” 

“ Eh ? Heave to ! What’s that ? I’m getting 
into foggy waters ! ” gasped the shipwrecked 
mariner, in blinking amazement. 

Then, Oakley told of “ Papa John’s ” one 
enemy: of his suspicions as to who had lent the 
smoke-house fire “ a boost.” 

“ That’s news to me ! ” blustered the other. 
“ Heavens ! I don’t know who the rascal could 
have been ! Ah, well ! since he’s drowned, there’s 
no use in stirring up that mess; the sea wipes 
out all ! ” his brief gust subsiding. 


310 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ What do you think of doing now, Uncle 
— staying ashore during the winter ? ” ques- 
tioned the nephew presently. 

“ I guess so, lad. I may try to get a vessel in 
the spring and go haddocking to Georges, or 
handlining, maybe, on some loose old ‘ wagon ’ 
getting up in years, with a crew of elderly men, 
like myself ! ” his gurgle of laughter, like the 
sea’s, blending mirth with tragedy. “ Do you 
suppose they could find me a corner in this board- 
ing-house of yours, where we’d be together? 
There’ll be a little something coming to me out 
of the insurance money on the Dorcas , and I’m 
not quite cleaned out at the bank — pretty nearly, 
though ! ” 

“ I guess, they could, if you want to put up 
with me for a bunk-mate; all other berths are 
full,” chuckled the boy, feeling somehow that he 
had a home again. 

But that sleeping partnership was at first a 
doubtful joy. Albeit the middle-aged skipper 
went round, “ hearty as ever,” bearing no hove- 
down mien, at night memory racked him. Over 
and over in dreams he would live through the 
moment when he had made a burnt offering to 
the seas of what had been a handsome vessel, 
with his savings thrown in. 

“ You try to jolly him along a little — will 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


311 


you, Gagie ? He can’t seem to get over it. Man ! 
you should see his body, buff and blue as a 
Revolutionary soldier’s coat, with the bruising he 
got, fighting his way on deck out of that 
swamped cabin,” said Oakley to his Latin School 
friend during the latter’s prolonged visit to Essex, 
on the occasion of Christmas holidays. 

And Greengage did his valiant best in the jolly- 
ing line, reeling off school-joke and yarn, but at 
first with no marked results, until it dawned on 
the skipper that his hidden melancholy was in- 
fecting others, that, by-and-by, the school boy 
in his presence, became mopy and dull, a fish out 
of water. 

As Captain Ceeph had no use for fish out 
of water, unless iced or salted, he resolutely flung 
the memory of his bad hour on the high seas 
aside, roused himself to meet the boys frankly, 
on their own sunny level, and he began to take a 
fatherly interest in his nephew’s plans for the 
future, coming through Gage to an understand- 
ing of how that grandnephew, when, like the 
vessel, temporarily hove down, had come back 
on his feet again! 

“ I think you’re making a game showing, lad, 
in sticking to your course, bucking to wind’ard < 
against a head-wind of difficulty ! ” quoth Captain 
Ceeph, with a broader smile than he had worn 


312 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


since the Dorcas was hove down, when it 
dawned on him how a boy of his, as he called 
Oakley, was striving with might and main to 
“ pull off ” one part of a naval architect’s educa- 
tion, while toiling in the shipbuilding yard. 

How, by dint of observations made in that 
yard, supplemented by an enlightening book on 
naval architecture, bought out of Congressman 
Joe’s buried treasure, he was at present putting in 
nearly all his leisure time in designing a twenty- 
foot yawl. Sketching, not her sailing outline 
only, but figuring up on every inch of timber to 
go into her, making the drawings necessary for 
her laying off on the loft floor, whittling out a 
block model of her in five pine sections to see how 
she would look, if built. 

“ She’s not a half-bad model,” declared Cap- 
tin Ceeph, holding the miniature yawl-boat in his 
band, squinting at it from various points. “ A 
little too much bunch to her after lines ; not quite 
enough rake to her stem! Well! let’s hear 
whether you have any ideas of your own as to 
designing a fisherman ? How would you set 
about drawing the lines of an able vessel that 
could show others the road, yet be seaworthy, too, 
eh? ” beaming on the fledgling architect. 

Then Oakley would start in and air his half- 
developed views as to the lines on which such a 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


313 


corking craft should be built ; the discussion would 
rake her over from stem to stern. 

Anon, the greyheaded skipper, without creative 
talent himself, but knowing every beam and 
stringer in a fisherman, as a surgeon knows bone 
and sinew of his patient, gaining from experience 
many hints as to how each part might be rein- 
forced or weakened, would fall to picturing the 
racking strains to which a vessel is subjected when 
winds and waves have her in their raging grip, 
trying to distort her out of all likeness to a ship. 
How her joints must be strengthened to resist 
such distortion. Of “ hogging ” and “ sagging ” 
strains, too, until the carried-away youth would 
exclaim : “ By gracious ! the fellow should be 

a regular chump who couldn’t pull off some sort 
of designer’s education between you and ‘ Pro- 
fessor,’ over in the mould-loft. Why, I’ll be 
getting a couple of hundred for a handsome 
‘ model ’ of a fisherman before I know where I 
am ! ” jubilantly. 

Young Rose was far from feeling any 
temptation in these days to throw up his ship- 
yard job in favor of easier work, elsewhere. 
He had come to love the historic town and blue 
river, scene of innumerable launchings. More- 
over, at times, he had the sensation of an unseen 
hand helping him along! 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


SU 

Dickey’s father, R. A. Gage, Senior, had re- 
turned from his western tour. And the boy felt 
moved to believe in somebody’s interest in fur- 
thering his purposes, when he found himself put 
to work on yard jobs which would give him just 
the architect’s knowledge of “ practical shipbuild- 
ing ” which he desired, aiding in bending or bev- 
eling a vessel’s frame, or scarfing lengths of hard 
maple together in a keel. 

Life was not without its play element, either : 
noontime skylarking with Mitch and Frenchy, an 
occasional frolic with “ Rag,” no longer a roam- 
ing Kickapoo, “ toting ” a wandering bear, his 
evil genius, but sobered manikin in corduroys, 
tied to his school reservation. 

But best of all were those red-letter Sundays 
when he caught sight of a Latin School boy’s 
close-cropped head across the pews in church, 
when their voices, Gage’s, still, with a quavering 
break on middle keys, would join in some martial 
hymn like a battle-cheer of youth: 

“ Ye that are men now serve Him, 

Against unnumbered foes, 

Let courage rise with danger, 

And strength to strength oppose ! ” 

Then, the Sunday afternoon ramble through 
wintry woods, skirting Chebacco Pond, under its 
mantle of ice, or out to a tall observatory, giving 


CAPTAIN CEEPH 


315 


each other the news, widely ranging from a 
school-boy’s marks and prize-prospects to Aunt 
Lo’s scratchy letter, scrawled with her own hand 
— last since that eventful “ snake-trailed ” one — 
telling that her operation was a success, the white 
film lifted from her eyes, though they would 
never be quite strong again. 

When spring thaw softened the woodland, 
when, in the fields the plough “ spurned its fur- 
row,” such rambles took on a new charm, for 
Gage was a born curiosity lover. All was fish 
that came to his net, from the tooth of a fishing 
frog, dear as Buddha’s tooth to Oriental priest, 
to the historic relics, arrowhead, flint or toma- 
hawk, secreted by the brown earth since heyday 
of Indians who swarmed about the ancient Che- 
bacco, or Essex, ere ever the Angel Gabriel landed 
her white men. 

By May the boys might have run a museum of 
their own on a small scale. 

“ When we make our summer trip to Georges, 
we may haul up something — a deep-sea tree, or 
piece of coral, or freak fish, maybe — to add to 
our collection,” Gage would suggest, at intervals. 

“ Pshaw, you’re getting Georges on the brain ; 
and you’ve enough shoal spots there already!” 
his companion would retort. “ If Uncle Ceeph 
should go trawling I may take a vacation from 


316 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the shipyard for a couple of weeks and get a 
change to ‘ go hand/ to fish. But d’you remem- 
ber what Barty said,” teasingly, “ about a kid 
with a smooth face who wanted to be taken out 
as passenger, that most skippers would give you 
the icy nipper ? ” 

“ And I said : 4 Trust me to thaw it ! ’ ” came 
the other’s laughing outbreak. “ I must run on 
my luck; I guess, ’twill float me out to Georges 
all right! But I won’t trust it to bring me 
back! ” 


CHAPTER XXII 
off to georges! 

G AGE was right: his luck, if such it could 
be termed, ran the length of floating him 
out to Georges bank, or of starting him 
thither, anyhow : and luck having undertaken the 
thing, at all, arranged it handsomely ! 

During the months of June and July Captain 
Ceeph did take an old vessel and go handlining to 
Georges, the crew fishing from the vessel’s rail as 
she lay to an anchor, a form of the industry 
which has now “ petered out ” considerably, in 
which none of the brand-new vessels — fast ones 
— are engaged ; there not being enough money in 
it, according to vessel owners. 

And a schoolboy who had succeeded in extract- 
ing a promise from the greyhaired skipper, gener- 
ally averse to “ taking out kids,” to give him a 
berth as passenger, felt somewhat disconsolate 
about making the long-dreamed of trip on a 
bunchy old “ two-hooker,” as he laughingly 
termed the handliner from the fact of each man 
of her “ crowd,” when he stood to the rail, fish- 
317 


318 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ing, having two hooks dependent from the 
spreader on his handline. 

“ But my mother won’t hear of my going to 
Georges with any skipper whom she doesn’t know 
personally,” he informed Oakley. “ Of course, 
Captain Ceeph is only one of the cracker jacks, 
the fine skippers ! ” Gage was very proud of old 
Gloucester’s Viking roll, with its unsung splen- 
dors of heroism. “ But she doesn’t know the other 
big fellows. She consulted my uncle before she 
would give consent at all : he said ‘ ’twould do me 
all the good in the world, if I got with the right 
sort of crowd — all depended on that ! ’ And 
she’s pretty sure that Capt’n Ceeph’s crowd are 
O. K.” laughingly. “ So, whether on trawler 
or old ‘ two-hooker,’ we’re bound to ship with him 
— and I’d choose to, anyhow ! ” wound up the 
Latin School boy, who had conceived a warm 
admiration for the skipper of the dead Dorcas. 

“ If only we could have got a chance to 
go on the Richard A. Gage , to see how she be- 
haves, now that she’s a full-blown vessel ! ” 
yearned young Rose. “ They say she’s made 
quite a record as a ‘ flyer ’ during the past year 
while she’s been haddocking to Georges. I 
guess if there was to be another fisherman’s race 
this year she’d make a good bid for the cup ! ” 
laughingly. 


OFF TO GEORGES 


319 


“ Essex wouldn’t hold Dickey if he thought 
he’d given his name to a cup-winner,” declared 
Gage. “ He’s got past the Teddy-bear age now 
— reached the boat stage, where he hasn’t much 
use for anything that doesn’t float.” 

Somewhat after this fashion was the conversa- 
tion running on a sultry August evening, when 
the two lads had ridden over by electric from 
Essex to Gloucester to get a breath of the salt 
harbor zephyrs, and were sauntering down Main 
Street. 

“ Whew, it’s warm,” laughed Oakley, “ the 
flies sticking to you and nary a breeze o’ wind, 
as a Cape man would say. I guess the Gage 
came in this morning. Let’s stroll down to the 
owner’s wharf and take a look at her — ’twill be 
cooler along the waterfront.” 

Which they did, standing presently on the 
very wharfhead, beside which the tawny main- 
mast, now, ringed with its score of wooden hoops, 
binding mainsail to it, had been stepped — where 
the Gage received her luck-money. 

She had the delicate topmasts on her, at pres- 
ent, for summer running, pointing pink fingers at 
the evening sky, as the rose of sunset bloomed 
across a smiling harbor : the topsails, too, those, 
hustling kites, each clewed up into a creamy bunch 
at main and foremast heads, flushing to salmon 


320 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


color under the sky’s flame, until each blushed 
aloft like a huge cabbage rose. 

“ Her deck doesn’t look white as a hound’s 
tooth, now ; she’s stood some knocks ! ” Oakley 
beamed down on that crowded deck, on nested 
dories, four to port, four to starboard, painted 
gurry-pen, fawn-colored barrels of trawl-line, 
grouped near the mainmast, great sails snugly 
furled to the leveled booms. 

“Well! she could hardly look very ‘ yachty ’ 
after 4 taking out her fish,’ to-day,” laughed his 
companion. “ Why, there’s Mr. Harvey, one of 
the owners; I haven’t seen him since we came 
round from Essex on her ! ” 

The dignified owner recognized them at once. 
“ A nice vessel, isn’t she, boys ? ” he said. “ And 
behaves better than she looks ! ” smilingly. 
“ She’s a fast one. My daughters haven’t ceased 
talking yet of the experience they had, when 
towed round on her, after she was launched.” 
He glanced at Oakley as he spoke, some memory 
tickling him of how a young fellow had chival- 
rously “ stood by ” on a rocking deck, unsteadied 
by spars or ballast. 

Perhaps, the trifling reminiscence had just the 
least little bit to do with his next question : 

“Is your Uncle, Capt’n Cephas, in now; I 
heard he had gone fishing again? ” 


OFF TO GEORGES 


321 


“ I expect him ‘ in ’ to-night or to-morrow,” 
Oakley replied. “ He’s handlining, just now, 
but isn’t much ‘ stuck ’ on the vessel he’s been 
taking out. Declared he was going to get quit 
of her, after this trip and deliver up the keys to 
the owner. He says she’s a loose old wagon, 
getting up in years and tender — that she’ll be 
coming ‘ unsawdered ’ under them, some day, 
spilling them all out ! ” Oakley laughed as he 
quoted the breezy skipper. 

“ I wonder how he’d like to take over the 
Gage? Captain Brad Williams, who’s been going 
in her, wants to stay ashore for a month : his wife 
is ill — has to be a long time in hospital. If 
Capt’n Ceeph wants to take out this one,” the 
owner nodded toward the deck beneath, “ why ! 
I guess he can.” 

The nephew’s eyes positively watered : in each 
floated a sunset beam! He knew how hard it 
was for Captain Cephas, who had owned fine ves- 
sels of his own in his day, having lost two, to take 
out a “ tender old wagon,” which he had to 
nurse all the way, instead of “ cracking sail onto 
her,” in a Viking rush through the water. 

“ I don’t think there’s anything under the skies 
that could please him better, Mr. Harvey ! ” mur- 
mured the grandnephew gratefully, feeling that 
this would speedily revive Uncle Ceeph’s spirits. 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Well, ask him to step round to our offices 
directly he gets in, will you ? ” 

And so it came to pass that just two days later, 
young Rose found himself meandering down a 
certain Gloucester wharf, carrying a brand-new 
white duck bag which contained part of his out- 
fit as a bank fisherman. Yellow oilskins, and 
sou’wester — not yellow, that would have been 
unlucky — went in a separate bundle. 

He had obtained a vacation from the shipyard , 
and, as the Gage was to engage in double-dory 
fishing, found it easy to ship as “ hand ” on a 
prospect of receiving like share with others of the 
crew from profits of the trawling trip. Had the 
vessel been bound for single-dory fishing, one 
man in each small boat, a lad of seventeen could 
have secured no such chance. 

“ I — I wonder where our ‘ passenger ’ is,” he 
muttered restlessly to his uncle. Captain Cephas 
was standing on the wharf-edge, looking down 
on the Gage's deck, on the vessel on which he 
had taken over command, as it heaved almost 
imperceptibly, like a walking pulse on bosom of 
the high tide, making of the dock an emerald 
basin. 

“ ‘ Greengage ’ is late putting in an appear- 
ance ! ” repeated young Rose, with semi-anxious 
laugh. “ We’ll have the breeze with us going 


OFF TO GEORGES 


323 


out, eh, skipper?” Already Oak had relegated 
to shore life the familiar “ Uncle.” “ Too bad 
it’s showery,” he ran on; “ bless me! this is a 
small waterspout,” as crystal drops whipped the 
harbor, wetting down other fishermen, each mean- 
dering placidly aboard, with his bag of duck or 
green cloth, deigning no notice to the increasing 
downpour, unless by the languid turning up of a 
coat collar. 

“ Here comes our passenger now : here comes 
Gage ! ” cried Oakley, in sudden relief ; he had 
been half afraid that an anxious mother might 
have retracted consent at the last. “ Why — 
goosegogs arleans ! the chump is carrying an um- 
brella; we’ll have some of the crowd vamosing,” 
affecting to stand aghast. 

“ Bid him chuck it into the dock,” laughed 
Captain Ceeph. 

And his nephew, charging up the wharf, 
snatched a dripping Gamp from the passenger, 
plentifully baptizing him with its drippings. 

“ Holy smoke ! you’re not going to bring this 
thing aboard, are ye ? ” he gasped. “ Why, an 
umbrella is the worst kind of a 4 Jonah,’ would 
bring all sorts of ill-luck — queer the trip! You 
haven’t got rubbers on, have you ? ” tragically 
glancing at the newcomer’s muddy boots. “ Rub- 
bers and umbrella, together, would sink us ! ” 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ We’re an enlightened crowd,” he went on 
more seriously, choking back laughter. “ But 
there are certain to be one or two aboard who’d 
feel like skidooing — taking their bags and go- 
ing on another vessel, if an umbrella came aboard. 
What shall I do with it ? ” 

“ Chuck it overboard, into the dock,” grinned 
the owner. “ My mother made me bring it. 
Who comes here? ” He turned eagerly at sound 
of capering footsteps — at a deep humming 
voice, tunefully lilting: 

“ Why — one day, as I tumbled down plump from the 
shrouds, 

As neat as a bird or a fairy, 

‘ Where the deuce, did ye come f’om,’ cries one — ‘ from 
the clouds * 

‘Did I come f’om — arrah faith, Tipperary!’” 

“Barty!” cried the two lads, simultaneously. 

“ You one of the ‘ crowd ? ’ You going on the 
Gage , too ? ” 

“ Sure, that’s what I’ve been doing, all sum- 
mer,” declared the Irishman. “ An’ it’s the slick 
bit o’ wood, she is, too! Arrah now, let up on 
that, will ye? What d’ye take me for, a punch- 
ing bag?” as Gage, to vent his feelings on the 
Jonah question, dealt this late arrival a series of 
rocking blows on the chest-bone with the padded 
end of his fist, while Oakley snatched off Bar- 


OFF TO GEORGES 


325 


tholomew’s hat and scratched the top of his head, 
in parrot-like greeting. 

“ An’ is this your way o’ salutin’ one o’ the 
vessel’s crowd ? ” grunted the big Irishman. 
“ Why then, for such a tearing welcome, may 
the Lord leave yez long the power, but seldom 
the will ! ” with droll laughter. “ There’s the 
skipper signaling us to get aboard. Guess he’s 
just hanging up, waiting for us! ” 

And the trio dropped down onto the vessel’s 
deck, where fourteen of the “ crowd,” numbering 
sixteen, exclusive of captain and cook, were al- 
ready lolling, one or two preparing to cast off, 
others exchanging a raking broadside of chaff 
with loungers on the wharf, above. 

Through the laughter and the cheer rang a 
calm, strong voice, familiar to the two lads, 
tremulous with excitement of this their first trip : 
“ When you’re ready, Cap,” it said, “ we’ll take 
our line across your bow ! ” 

It was the captain of the tug-boat Minna, 
which had wrestled on behalf of the new boat 
with the tidal mud, now waiting to tow the full- 
fledged vessel down the harbor channel, as far as 
Ten Pound Island light. 

“ Watch the tug swing her out by them other 
vessels,” said Barty to the passenger. “ See him 
turn her, with the sun ; against it, would mean ill- 


326 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


luck! A fisherman must always turn with the 
sun.” 

And the Arch Luminary as if blessing his 
devotee, the vessel, at that moment shed a strug- 
gling beam through parting rain-clouds athwart 
her deck, gilding two upturned faces, radiant 
with a dream come true: faces of the passenger 
and Oakley, the fledgling fisherman, who were 
at last, “ off to Georges ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD 


E VEN Captain Cephas, with the iron-grey 
rings of hair above his ears, tweaked by 
the harbor breeze as if it loved them, was 
not above joining in the chaff as the Gage swung 
out by the sun! To look at him, to-day, with a 
fast bit of wood under him, one would think 
that he had never fired a vessel ! 

“ Why don’t you bring her over in the way, a 
little, you fellows ? ” he caustically inquired of 
fishermen on a neighboring deck, amid the pack 
of vessels near the wharf, which threatened to 
block the passage, as the Gage crept “ out by.” 
“ I’d take her up on the alligator grounds if I 
were you ; that’s the place for her! ” A barbed 
piece of irony, the obstacle being what he 
would have termed a loose old wagon, the alli- 
gator beach, the happy hunting ground of dead 
vessels, where they disintegrated in peace. 

The vessel’s “ crowd ” meanwhile, was taking 
particular part in the wordy fusillade, returning 
with interest parting jests flung at them. 

“ Hi, there ! Barty — Bart Halloran ! ” cried 

327 


328 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


one jokester on the wharf, “ send that coolie 
ashore, will ye ? ” pointing to an olive-cheeked 
youth on the outbound deck, who answered to the 
name of Dacre, and had a vivid taste in ties. 

“ I could stay ashore if I wanted to : I’ve got 
two dollars left out o’ my share, last trip,” flung 
back the dark-eyed lad, thrusting a hand deep 
into trouser-pocket and flaunting a bill. “ Two 
dollars and plenty o’ sass will keep a fisherman 
six months ashore among such fellows as you ! ” 
And young Dacre began to haul with gusto upon 
the “ topping left,” to top the main boom up, 
after another man had taken it out of the crotch. 

“ Good for you, Dinksie ! ” laughed the ves- 
sel’s crowd, applauding, and then “ got busy — ” 
all except an excited passenger — manning the 
throat and peak halyards, lining up on either side 
the mainmast: the tussle with a great mainsail 
began. 

“ H’ist her! H’ist her? Send her aloft — 
there ! Send her, boys ! Send that mains' l aloft ! 
Whoop-la ! haul-like-a-nigger an’ — h’ist her ! 
H’ist her! ” Such was the deep baying chorus 
puffed up by lungs that worked like bellows 
as each man of the crowd, Oakley among 
them, hauled for all that was in him on the hal- 
yards. Strength calling on strength ! It was as 
if the “ bouquet of cries ” opened out and the 


THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD ” 


329 


great sail popped forth, fan-like, as up she went, 
cracking and slatting with pistol-like noises, as 
though already her campaign with the elements 
had begun. 

There was one familiar bleat that came in on 
the hoisting chorus, every now and again, like a 
musical tag, with a : “ Sen’ her, boy ! Sen’ her 

alof’ ! Hourrah — up she go!” Frenchy was 
aboard, Frenchy from the Essex shipyard. Two 
lads had expected to find him, for he had been 
handlining with Captain Ceeph all summer. 

“ Well, Frenchy, old boy, how’s the world 
using you; how’re you feeling? ” ejaculated Oak- 
ley, on recognizing this shipmate. 

“ Satchery! I’ll not be feelin’ ver’ well — me. 
I’ll no like fish wit’ de two hook; I’ll like go 
trawl’ ! ” and Frenchy hauled with a vim, the 
whistle on his lip sprained by labor. 

Now, at the skipper’s order to “ Man the 
jigs!” willing hands were hauling on the jig- 
block tackle in the halyards, stretching the creamy 
duck to its full extent, swaying the great sail up, 
fanned by the captain’s breezy : “ Stretch her, 

boys ; take the stretch out of that duck ! Stretch 
her there — you fellows : bounce her out ! Well,” 
nodding complacently, “ belay that ! ” as the 
mainsail spread its creamy area of seven hundred 
and fifty yards to harbor breeze. 


330 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“Get the fores’l on her! Loose jib and 
jumbo ! ” 

The Gage had her spreading “ four lowers ” 
on, when, abreast of Ten Pound Light, toot ! came 
the tug-boat’s whistle, with a “ Cast off that tow- 
line ! ” from Captain Ceeph. As Barty’s hands 
loosed towrope from the bitthead to which it was 
made fast, the Minna sheered off to starboard, 
getting out of the vessel’s path, while hearts of 
two lads were “jigged” up into their throats 
with excitement of the great minute when first 
they felt the deck under them, on which they had 
wildly rocked during its chrysalis stage, thrill 
like a sentient thing, with the throb of a vessel’s 
own life. 

To emphasize the feeling, the tug which had 
gallantly given the new boat “ three times 
three ” at the moment of launching, whistled a 
triple salute now, as she dropped astern ; a blithe 
send-off ! 

“Well, good-bye, boys!” roared the Minna's 
captain through his megaphone; Captain Cephas 
and he were old friends. “ Bring back a ‘ rous- 
ing trip!’” And the towboat put back to her 
wharf. 

A “ rousing trip it was that already to the 
passenger boy ! More tightly was his heart 
swayed up into his throat, hauled upon by all the 


THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD ” 


331 


tackle in him, by a hundred new sensations, as he 
heard the skipper’s word to Barty who had now 
taken the wheel : “ Keep her off for the Whist- 

ler off Eastern Point ! ” 

The weird note of that whistling buoy was to 
him — to Oak too — the “ call of the wild ” ; of 
the winds, the sea, hailing him forth to strange 
experiences of the desert deep, of which he could 
foreshadow nothing, save that they would be ut- 
terly unlike any known before. 

Gage’s eyes were blurred and dancing, as he 
did a double-shuffle on the quarter-deck in the 
neighborhood of Barty, who was steering, stand- 
ing to weath’ard of the wheel, his eye on the 
clearing coast-line. 

“ Aw ! wait till we’re outside, boy, an’ get a 
taste of the rake coming out of Ipswich Bay — 
when she begins to do a double-shuffle of her 
own — then, you won’t feel so jiggy, I guess! ” 
blew off the Irishman. 

Meanwhile, young Rose, lounging abaft the 
wheel-box, with others of the vessel’s crowd, 
flung him down, wearily a-sprawl, upon a small 
mat of plaited rope-ends, on the taff rail — blow- 
ing upon palms, “ soft ” from shore work, half- 
flayed, now, by hauling on the halyards. The 
unusual toil, making sail, when, with the 
greenhorn’s flurry, he had strained as if he 


332 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


were the whole “ working show,” not merely a 
cog in the human wheel, had queered his brain a 
little, so that, holding himself in readiness to 
jump, at the skipper’s word, he bungled the next 
order. 

“ Slack off the mainsheet, there — one of you 
fellows!” And the novice, in feverish alacrity, 
leaping to obey, instead of “ letting her go, easy,” 
slacked off the great rope too suddenly from the 
bitthead to which it was made fast — with the 
result as the crowd would have put it, that “ she 
got away with him ! ” 

In other words, holding fast to the sheet, he 
was swung off his feet, dragged along the quar- 
ter deck by Titanic force of the huge, breeze-filled 
mainsail tugging on that sheet, with as much 
power to help himself as a paper tag at the string 
end of a small boy’s kite, amid a mingled roar of 
laughter and consternation. Like lightning, half 
a dozen men were springing to his assistance, 
managing to get the main-sheet under control, 
before a greenhorn was badly jammed against the 
leader-block through which it went with whiz- 
zing snort ! 

“ My sakes ! you almost paid her off to the 
knot,” cried one. “ She went like a whiz-button ! 
Didn’t you know enough to let her go easy ? ” 
came from another. 


THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD ” 


333 


“ Great sailor ! did that fellow ship as a fisher- 
man ? ” broke forth another, in nettling tones. 
“ He’s a lubberly specimen to ‘ go hand ! ’ 
Guess ’twill be all day with him when it comes 
to baiting up a tub of trawl! You’ll have your 
hands full — Pin — if you have him for a dory- 
mate : he’ll be slower than molasses ! ” addressing 
a tall, lank youth sprawling on the taffrail. 

“ Avast there, Mudgie boy. Belay — that ! ” 
lazily clucked “ The Pin,” baptized Gard- 
ner Pratt, rechristened as “ Clothes Pin ” by crew 
of the first vessel on which he went fishing, a 
nickname of which his present cognomen was an 
abbreviation. He was to be Oakley’s dorymate, 
the crew having paired off almost directly they 
came aboard — those of them who were not al- 
ready mated from a previous trip. “ Belay that,” 
urged Gardner, meaning that the scorner should 
not pay out any more scorn. “ The ‘ green’s ’ all 
right; he’s no lazy gazunk! ” in tones which had 
an odd little grate in them, like water bubbling 
over sunshot gravel. “ Older men than he have 
been caught in the main-sheet, before now ! And 
I guess he’ll be able to bait up all right when once 
he tumbles to the hooks — so keep your hair 
on!” 

The Pin snatched off Mudgie’s cap, scratched 
the top of his head with two long fingers which, 


334 , 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


surmounted by bony knuckle-knob, were absurdly 
suggestive of his nickname. 

“ I guess, you haven’t been fishing quite so 
much as you think you have, Murray boy ! ” he 
grated again — “ Murray Sellar ” being “ Mudg- 
ie’s ” baptismal name. Then, outsprawled lazily, 
Gardner blinked skyward, diagnosing the 
weather : “ Wind’s shifting to the nor’west,” 

he affirmed. “ Nor’-nor’-west ! We’ll have a 
good run down east after herring bait; hope we 
find the traps full ; don’t have to hang up, wait- 
ing, in Bar Harbor. Well, we’re abreast the old 
Whistler, now ! ” as the Gage rounded Eastern 
Point. 

Simultaneously, came Captain Ceeph’s order: 
“ Jibe the mains’l, boys! Lay hold of the main- 
sheet and walk her aft! All hands bend on the 
main sheet ! ” 

Again all hands “ got busy ” — while the breeze 
freshened from the nor’west — until the great 
main boom was fair over the stern. 

“ Starboard your helm ; let the mains’l come 
over ! ” to Barty, at the wheel. 

Then as the vessel’s head veered to port and 
the nor’wester tickled the other side of the great- 
sail : “ Give her sheet, boys ! ” And to Barty : 

“ Steady your wheel. See Thatcher’s off the 
port-bow? Well, keep her as she is: ’twill about 


THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD ” 


335 


take us clear o’ the Londoner! Don’t want to 
hug the Londoner any too close! ” 

And the Gage left one trap which would beset 
her out-goings and in-comings, the foam- 
bearded Londoner, safely to West’ard! Then, 
came an order which tickled Oakley’s veins with 
fresh excitement, sent a thrill down his tired 
spine, accustomed as he had been to look upon 
the light sails, not yet set, as “ the real life of the 
vessel,” her secret of speed — symbol of ambi- 
tion : 

“ Loose the gaff tops’ls ; take the balloon out 
to the end of the bowsprit and snap it onto the 
stay ! ” 

Instantly The Pin and young Dacre, the olive- 
cheeked boy, who could subsist ashore on two 
dollars, eked out by unlimited “ sass,” were scur- 
rying aloft, climbing by the ratlines, Gardner to 
the mainmast-head, Dacre to the foremast, loosen- 
ing topsails, each rolled up into the gasket, a 
small line passing through eyelet holes surround- 
ing the sail, clewing or puckering it into a ball. 

“ Let go the clew-line ! Hoist away on your 
tops’l halyards ! ” grated The Pin, from aloft. 

“ Hoist away on the fore ! ” chirped Dacre, 
whistling down through the rigging, like a song- 
bird. 

It was a vital moment for the greenhorn, as he 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


found himself again on the strenuous edge, haul- 
ing, with others, on main-topsail halyards, while 
yet others hauled on the fore, until, overhead, the 
lofty kite topsails spread their pinions, silvered 
by sunlight. Almost instantly a new thrill of 
bounding life rioted along the vessel’s deck. For 
simultaneously three or four of the crew — there 
being hands enough aboard to cope with the light 
sails, altogether, staysail being already set — 
simultaneously a quartette, headed by Frenchy, 
gaily “ Tra-la-la-ing ! ” as usual, were wrestling 
with the balloon-jib, little old “ gasoliner,” taking 
it out to the bowsprit end, snapping it onto the 
stay, trimming the sheet! 

And the Richard A. Gage , feeling the increased 
spread of .canvas, fairly jumped ahead, foam boil- 
ing in a laughing smother under her lee fore- 
chains — a handsome curl rolling off from her lee 
quarter, trailing out astern. 

“ Now, she’s got the kites and ‘ ballooner ’ on 
her ! Now, she’s clipping it ! Now she’s making 
good! ” breezed Oakley deliriously, feeling the 
vessel’s life rioting through every pulse, as he 
shinned aft in a respite from work, collared Gage, 
the passenger, rolled with him on the taffrail, un- 
til they came within an ace of going overboard to- 
gether. “ Now she’s making good ! ” he re- 
peated, on the frolic. “ And I’ll make good, too, 


THE VESSEL’S 64 CROWD ” 


337 


some day, when I get the kites aloft again ! ” re- 
newing, behind closed teeth, the vow made in that 
whitewashed den, never to knock off striving till 
he should get ambition’s light sails, temporarily 
clewed up, unpuckered to the breeze, feel their 
buoyant weight dragging him along, on his chosen 
course. 

In an ebullition of hopeful feeling, mad with 
joy of the bounding vessel, of sea and wind, Oak- 
ley seized the passenger round the waist, 
dragged him to the quarter-rail, swung him up- 
ward, pointed him, head down, over the vessel’s 
side — nose to the water, heels in the air, kicking 
vigorously ! 

44 Oh, I say: cut it out!” squealed Green- 
gage. 44 You’re getting the swelled head,” grum- 
blingly, 44 from being one of the crowd, helping 
to work her, while I’m only a lubberly passen- 
ger ! ” regaining the deck, meanwhile — by kick- 
ing out for the assailant’s face — after coming 
within an inch of losing it altogether and probing 
that handsome curl rolling off from the lee quarter 
with his nose. 44 My eye ! she is humming some 
now,” added the passenger dizzily. 

44 True for ye, Chick : she’s certainly feeling 
4 the weight of them kites ! ’ ” Barty, still at the 
wheel, squinted upward at sun-shot topsails. 
44 See that coaster, ahead there? ” he added, nod- 


338 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ding toward a vessel in the lead by some three or 
four miles. “ In another couple o’ hours, lads, 
she’ll be reading the Richard A. Gage's name on 
her stern.” 

“ We’ll leave that whole fleet of east-bound 
coasters behind, pretty soon,” chimed in Nat 
Dickson, himself a Down-easterner, with very 
blue eyes and long upper lip bunching itself over 
white teeth as he spoke. He rejoiced in the nick- 
name of “ Palmy,” from a habit which marked 
him of alluding to “ palmy ” days of log-driving 
on the Kennebunk, was best man at baiting up 
trawl aboard, and second to none in the good 
graces of his shipmates. 

“ Aw, you wait till we get down to east of 
the Sal-va-ges; — get the strength of this nor’- 
wester coming out of Ipswich Bay — it’s then 
that the Richard A. will show her heels to the 
coasters! ” blew off Ned Say wood, dubbed boats- 
wain, aboard. He did the “ sailorizing,” looked 
after rigging and ropes, but had no authority 
over his shipmates. “ She’s a dog, this one — ” 
vaunted Ned, “ a real dog at picking up her heels ! 
I’ve been going on her ever since she made her 
trial trip, nigh on a year ago.” 

“ She won’t beat that out-bound fisherman, 
just rounding the Point, astern of us, though!” 
struck in Jimmy Sweetman, another Gloucester 


THE VESSEL’S “ CROWD ” 


339 


man, born and bred. “ That fellow may be show- 
ing us the road, before dark.” Jimmy’s eyes 
glowed, as they rested on the handsome schooner- 
fellow, astern. “ If I don’t mistake, that’s the 
Frances P. Mesquita — and Captain Joe. She 
pulled off one of the Lipton prizes, last year. 
Captain Joe can send her some, I tell ye! ” 

“ He’s ‘ sending her,’ now. But the old man 
can send this one, too, maintained little Johnny 
Tuck, glancing toward the skipper’s broad back. 
“ They’re both able vessels ; same designer drew 
the lines of both — an’ you can’t beat him for 
getting speed into a model ! ” 

So the gossip ran on in neighborhood of the 
wheel-box, while the Gage gained on that fleet of 
coasters and held her own against the fast fisher- 
man, astern — until, by-and-by, off the Salvages’, 
easternmost ledges of Cape Ann, she began 
to do a “ double-shuffle ” of her own, getting a 
strong rake of the sea while coming out of 
Ipswich Bay! 

Began to jump and tumble about, now and 
again shipping a thin sheet of water over her 
weather rail — till not a hapless passenger only, 
but fledgling fisherman, too, felt a like jumping 
and squirming within, developing presently into 
foggy vacuum under chest and waist-lines as if all 
furniture pertaining to those departments, were 


340 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


being shifted to the attic, i. e., their swimming 
heads. 

“ She’s beginning to ‘ train on,’ now ! ” laughed 
Gardner Pratt, The Pin. “ Feeling a bit skittish, 
eh, Chick ? ” In this museum of nicknames 
Greengage found his changed ; he was “ Chick ” 
from the moment of stepping aboard. 

The skipper spared him the necessity of ac- 
knowledging his pangs by suddenly stepping aft, 
with a: 

“ Well, boys, you’d better see about arranging 
your watches now — about thumbing the hat ! ” 

“ 4 Thumbing the hat ? ’ ” echoed the squirming 
passenger, trying to ignore that restless inner 
shifting. 

“ Yes ! We’re going to put you onto a new 
game ! ” guffawed The Pin, as sixteen fishermen 
gathered amidships — Barty, the former helms- 
man, and Oakley among them — each laying a 
finger on the brim of a shady old derby, held by 
Jimmy Sweetman, at arm’s length. 

“ I’m out of this ; I’ll watch the game from the 
4 bleachers ! ’ ” sang out the passenger, with a 
creaky laugh, resolutely sitting upon squeamish 
feelings, as the rake swept down stronger out of 
Ipswich way, as the piping nor’wester kicked up a 
foamy tumble of sea, and the vessel danced to its 
tune. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

FIRST NIGHT OUT ! 


S Sweetman held the derby hat extended, 



Ned Say wood counted, with outstretched 


^ finger, the ring of fisherman holding it, 
until he came to thirteen ; at that usually unlucky, 
but now auspicious number, two men dropped out, 
the one on whom it fell and his dorymate-to-be ! 

“ Hurrah ! I get the whole night in,” whooped 
Barty, first to fall off from the ring, together with 
Johnny Tuck — “ Little Tuck,” aboard the vessel 
— though Johnny in strength and breadth made 
up what he lacked in stature. “ There’ll be a 
good many hours before you an’ I have to stand 
our watch, Johnny boy! ” 

On a Georges haddocker this round-robin 
method of arranging the watches by thumbing the 
hat is still adhered to. Minutes in the twenty- 
four hours are divided up among the crew — in 
this instance, there being sixteen fishermen, mak- 
ing ninety minutes to each man, two on duty at 
the same time. At first dorymates are on watch 
together, one at the wheel, one on lookout, 


341 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


342 

for’ard. But after a lapse of several hours, a 
man has to drop out in order to bring the minutes 
out even; then it becomes “ shipmates’ watch,” 
so-called, the two who go on not being otherwise 
mated. 

“ You look like a lot of kids, playing drop the 
handkerchief ! ” laughed the passenger, tempo- 
rarily forgetting his qualms in amusement of the 
game. “ I almost expected to see him drop it 
upon you, Pin ! ” as Gardner and Oakley fell back 
from the ring. 

Both Gage and the green fisherman had now 
“ caught on ” to names, or nicknames, of most 
of the crew and were using them unceremoni- 
ously, as the crowd used theirs. 

“ Eddie Cass is dropping out, too — Bluebeard 
with him — they’re dorymates, always, whatever 
vessel they’re on. Have fished together for 
years; Newfoundlanders, both of ’em!” ex- 
plained The Pin. 

Of Cass, clear-skinned and light-eyed, that was 
self-evident. Bluebeard, though born up near 
Conception Bay, mingled a dash of French blood 
with his Irish strain, making him jet-black of 
hair, with a bluish stubble on his chin, when fish- 
ing for many days without benefit of a shave, 
which evoked his nickname. 

Few horny fingers were left decorating the hat- 


FIRST NIGHT OUT 


brim, now. Frenchy had dropped out, mutter- 
ing something about “ getting good sleeps, dis 
night ! ” had strolled forward, lighting his pipe, 
and leaned against a barrel of the windlass, 
“ greasing his little dog’s nose with tar,” in a 
gentle hum. Hugo, the “ Portugee,” gallant 
youth and big fisherman, was also out of it. 
Murray Sellar, too, who had shown a disposition 
to “ rub it into Oakley,” as a greenhorn, with 
Palmy, his dorymate. The latter danced off 
sucking his released thumb ! 

“ Reub Marr and Charlie Woolf ord stand first 
watch, this night,” announced Barty, as two last 
fingers were plucked from the hat-brim, now 
swaying between them. 

“ My wheel ! ” said Reuben simultaneously, 
stepping round the wheel-box, while young Wool- 
ford went forward, on look-out. 

“ Keep her no’th-east-by-east, Reub,” the skip- 
per directed, as he relinquished the post, tem- 
porarily taken, while the game was in progress. 

At that moment, a sleek head was thrust up 
through the forecastle companionway. At sight 
of it Barty waltzed forward : 

“ Hullo, cookie ! ” he cried, “ what time do we 
eat? ” 

“ Supper at 4 145, ” returned the head precisely. 
“ Just going to call the first table, now ! Hi 


344 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


there ! Johnny,” to Little Tuck, standing aft, “ tell 
first table gang — supper!” Tempting odors of 
bake and fry made the vessel an oasis of piquant 
smell, amid the one desert odor of brine. 

“Coming, Gage?” queried Captain Ceeph, 
glancing at the passenger. 

“I — I believe — I’ll hang up a while, skip- 
per — wait for the second table gang, if you don’t 
mind,” stammered the latter, rather dizzily. 

“ Just as you like, old son! ” 

Twenty minutes later, when the cook’s cheery 
whistle rang up the fo’c’s’le companionway, a 
lagging passenger, not quite sure whether his legs 
belonged to him or not, was backing down a 
perpendicular ladder, taking his place at the fore- 
castle table, covered with its red and yellow oil- 
cloth, before a steaming mug of black tea, of 
piping strength. 

“ My ! but you’ve a good smell here, cookie ! ” 
Barty was saying, sniffing in the forehold, the 
steward’s realm, ere lurching to his seat at the 
three-cornered table. “ What, fish-hash and hot 
biscuits ? Puff-balls they are : puff-balls ! ” he 
beamed a moment later, neatly dividing a biscuit 
into two bites. “ Och ! cook, I see you’re the lad 
that knows how to handle the dumpling dust.” 

The steward laughed : “ Only a little lunch, 

this evening,” he said, “seeing we’re just out! 


FIRST NIGHT OUT 


345 


But eat hearty — eat hearty, boys — an’ give the 
vessel a good name ! ” 

Poor passenger ! it was beyond him to comply, 
to get away with floury dumpling dust, in any 
form. Yellow cubes on the red oilcloth kept roll- 
ing and sliding, like jaundiced foam, round plate 
and mug. Large slices of golden cake, alternat- 
ing with bread, looked malevolently yellow, too. 
The “ sickness ” was all in the grub, at this stage 
— he was all right — this was the bluff he put up 
on himself, while ostentatiously sipping tea, and 
coming in on the chaff, that floated down the 
fo’c’s’le table. 

“ H’ist the jib on that sugar-barge, Palmy!” 
murmured Gardner, his mouth half-plugged with 
biscuit. 

“ An’ when she takes a lurch this way, slide 
down the butter bucket,” invited Dacre. 
“ They’ve lightened it so much up your end o’ 
the table,” squinting at the yellow mound, “ that 
it hasn’t got strength enough to slide itself, 
down ! ” 

“ What d’you want it for, Dinksie : why don’t 
you use what you were brought up on — mo- 
lasses!” chaffed Eddie Minkler, a Vermont lad, 
whose family had moved to Gloucester, tantaliz- 
ingly holding up the “ bucket.” 

“ Don’t see any around. At all events, if I 


346 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


was raised on m’lasses, we had plenty of it ; guess 
your folks didn’t have that, or butter, either ! ” 
Dinksie laughed. 

“Yes, we did, too; if ’lasses ran short, we 
could make it — finest kind — from the maple 
sugar trees,” maintained the Vermonter. 

“ Som’ time — ” it was Frenchy who now made 
a ragged hit at the conversational ball — “ Som’ 
time, I’ll t’ink I wish me back in dem good old 
hood, w’ere we mak’ dem maple sugars ! ” dream- 
ing over his fish-hash of green Canadian wood- 
land. 

“Well, I guess, I’m not wishing myself back 
in the woods, any more than I did on the first 
night I slept aboard the Gage , before she was 
launched ! ” chimed in Oakley, whose sickly 
qualms were not persistent enough to prevent his 
enjoying the distinction which such an experience 
would give him. “ Gee whiz ! wasn’t I hungry 
next morning, after doing the stowaway act — 
and no pie in the lockers, not a crumb to bait a 
mouse-trap! ” plaintively. “ And Frenchy, there, 
yelling 1 Bonhomme ! Bonhomme ! ’ turning the 
deck into a music-hall overhead — taking a fel- 
low first for ‘ sheep-yar’-rat ’ ; then, for hobo 
‘ sone of a gunne ! ’ ” laughingly. 

“What! you jumped a bunk aboard this one, 
before ever she smelled water ? ” queried Rowley 


FIRST NIGHT OUT 347 

Dunn, nicknamed “ Roll-down.” “ Tell us about 
it, greeny ; go ahead — rip her out ! ” 

“Rip her out; let her go! Drive her!” in- 
vited the fo’c’s’le gang. 

And the greenhorn proceeded to rip out the 
yarn, driving the story from the moment he got 
turned round in Essex woods to that when the 
passenger came to his relief, at an awkward mo- 
ment, in the shipyard. 

“What! Gagie, there, he just stumps on in 
the nick o’ time, an’ pulls you out o’ the mess ? ” 
laughed Barty. “ Sure, ’twas a reg’lar piece o’ 
play-acting and you told it like a play-boy ! ” 

The greeny looked modest over being likened 
to an actor. He had not been so engrossed in 
telling the story as not to notice that there was 
one among the second table gang obtrusively un- 
interested. Murray Sellar had tried to inter- 
rupt the drift now and again, only to draw upon 
himself a remonstrating “ Avast there, Mudgie ! ” 
“ Stow that ! ” “ Can’t you let another fellow 

have his squeak out ? ” and so forth. 

But a further passage at arms was to come 
between the fledgling fisherman and this “ Mudgie 
boy,” only a year or so his senior, who seemed 
bent on rubbing it into him as a novice — taking 
the wind out of his sails, on every tack ! 

The passenger had made a precipitous bolt for 


348 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the deck, no longer able to stare out that jaun- 
diced grub; Oakley followed, to offer what com- 
fort he could to a seasick chum. He piloted the 
sufferer aft to rope-mat seat on the taffrail, where 
he would get less of the “ bilge-water smell,” 
inevitable on a fisherman, even if she be a yachty 
clipper, and the neatest, sweetest boat, afloat. 

He was starting forward again — at an order 
from the skipper — lurching wildly, for the vessel 
now threshed in a tumble of sea, caught between 
an old ground-swell rolling in from the east, in 
long low mountains, and the brisk nor’wester 
pressing her against it ! 

As she giddily dipped her lee rail, her present 
gait would be too much for any greenhorn who 
had not yet found his sea-legs, who had not 
learned the trick of swaying with her : Oak found 
himself in furious collision with Bluebeard, who, 
swinging for’ard, suited his step to the vessel’s as 
if they were partners in a waltz. 

“ Avast there, b’y ! Look out ! ” yelled the 
Newfoundlander cheerily: 

“An’ a great big sea come over she, 

A-crossing Fortune Bay, sir-r ! ” 

he supplemented in a riotous roar, eyeing the wet 
deck and dripping quarter-rail. 

“ Never mind, b’y, you’ll get onto your sea- 


FIRST NIGHT OUT 


349 


legs soon ! ” he remarked encouragingly, a few 
minutes later, when the captain’s order to “ take 
in a little on the jib,” had been put through: 
Bluebeard, of the stubbly chin, was the j oiliest 
kind of an ogre. “ She certainly is humming 
some, now, in the teeth o’ this old swell: we’re 
crawling up on them coasters,” he added, gazing 
out over the bow at a tumble of waters, strewn 
with goldenrod by the August sunset, as it made 
an up-hill, down-dale path across the sea, to strug- 
gling freighters, ahead. 

“ There’s one fellow among ’em, though, run- 
ning like a shark ! ” chuckled the Newfound- 
lander, reveling in the prospect of a race. “ He’s 
going home, light. He’ll give us a run for our 
money; we won’t pass him, ’less we can get to 
win’ard of him, blanket his sails! We’re holding 
our own against the Frances P ., too,” trium- 
phantly glancing astern at the handsome prize- 
winner, still in sight. “ Captain Joe is, sure, get- 
ting a good thirteen, or thirteen an’ a half, out of 
her now. But the skipper’ll tear the spars out o’ 
this one, before he’ll let her pass us ! ” 

In whooping excitement, Oakley lurched aft, 
for a better view of the flyer, astern, cutting out 
her thirteen knots, or more, an hour, the breezing- 
up wind in her favor. But he was brought up 
short by a second bumpitty-bump collision, run- 


350 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ning chock into Murray Sellar, with such violence 
that they both skated along the quarter deck, till 
the greenhorn was fetched up by the bitthead, 
swooping down upon it, spread-eagle fashion, 
arms waving like wings, talon fingers wildly claw- 
ing at air. 

“ An’ a big — big sea come over we, 

A-crossing Fortune Bay, sir-r ! ” 

roared Bluebeard, with mocking cluck. “ Oh, 
you’ll find your sea-legs, in time — old son ! ” 

“ ‘ Sea-legs ! ’ He'll never get ’em ; he’d do 
better on a river-boat; that’s where his place is! ” 
declared Mudgie, with, as before, a sting in his 
mockery. “ What d’ye take me for, anyhow, a 
sinker on a handline, trying to heave me over- 
board?” he demanded irritably. 

“ Takes ye for what ye are, I guess ” — it was 
Barty’s voice which struck in — “ for the moving 
picture of a winter’s day, short an’ dirty! An’ 
for a whipper-snapper, that he could knock into 
the middle of next week, if he went about it ! ” 
supplemented the Irishman. 

“ There, Mudger, you got yours ! ” A roar 
went up from the deck; Murray, when he came 
aboard had not looked as if soap and water were 
in quite such high favor with him as with the 
rest of the crowd. 

"Well! the fellow had a sneer on him,” mut- 


FIRST NIGHT OUT 


351 


tered Barty, as if apologizing to the nor’west 
gust. “ Fun’s fun. But what I can’t bear is a 
fellow with a sneer on him! ” 

An hour later, while the Gage was still making 
good on her run down-east, after herring bait, 
ere shaping her course for Georges, a greenhorn 
tumbled below to the cabin, rolling presently into 
a big bunk opposite the skipper’s where the pas- 
senger was already asleep, lightly snoring off his 
inner qualms. 

As sleep in turn boarded the greeny’s con- 
sciousness, it crept softly up the gang-plank to a 
boarding refrain : 

“ An’ a great big-sea come over she — ” 

Across that big sea — over the tumble of wa- 
ters drowsily engulfing him, as the vessel rolled 
and staggered, there seemed to glide a steely 
something, like a ricochetting shell, which, in 
bursting, took on features, a face — the likeness 
of Mudgie’s sneer. 

“ That fellow seems to have it in for me, for 
some reason ! Wonder what — ” 

Ere the question could shape itself, Oak had 
curled over beside his bunkmate, touching him 
softly with three fingers, blinking at the hay- 
colored head, dimly outlined against striped bol- 
ster, under light of cabin and binnacle lamps! 
Next instant, he, too, was in Fortune’s Harbor 
— sound asleep! 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE FLARE-UP 

I N the budding daylight of an August morn- 
ing young Rose found himself standing his 
first watch aboard a fishing vessel; he was 
not likely to forget it. 

During the night the brisk nor’wester had 
shifted round to a light sou’westerly puff, bring- 
ing showers in its train; the early sunlight came 
on deck dripping, beaming from a bath. 

Despite this change of weather which retarded 
her a little, the clipper Gage had made some hun- 
dred and ninety miles, since she left Thatcher’s, 
Massachusetts’ outpost, behind. The captain was 
now hauling her up into Bar Harbor, where he 
was minded to go ashore, seek for herring bait. 
Before the lad, on look-out in the bow, loomed 
the wood-clad sides of Mount Desert, emerald 
under the young day. 

“ Great old lump of mud * — isn’t it? ” sang out 
Gardner, who had the wheel. 

“ Great — great lump of earth ! ” echoed Oak, 
feasting his eyes on mountain, pine woods, shore 
352 


THE FLARE-UP 


S5S 


in general, with the same feeling of worship 
swelling in him which had bubbled upward in the 
country shipyard, amid October’s matchless color- 
ing. 

“ And the harbor solid full of yachts, as usual,” 
yelled Gardner again. “ But I guess the skipper 
won’t find bait here; fishermen are all too busy 
taking summer parties out sailing to bother about 
trapping herring. He’ll have to run over into 
Winter Harbor. Eh, what’s the matter with 
you, Con: what are you whining and carrying 
on about ? ” he added, after a few minutes, as it 
began to shower again — a slanting, sunshot 
drizzle. 

The member of the crowd now addressed was 
one not heretofore mentioned; a large New- 
foundland dog, Bluebeard’s property, mascot of 
the vessel, answering to the name of Con, from 
his birthplace, like his master’s, near Conception 
Bay. 

“ What are you carrying on about ? You can’t 
stand a few raindrops without being ‘ oiled up ’ ; 
is that it ? ” laughed The Pin. “ Here’s the fel- 
low who owns you, tumbling on deck now ; he’ll 
fix you.” 

Which Bluebeard did, buttoning a spare oil- 
coat round the dog’s throat, as the latter, wag- 
ging his tail gleefully, jumped on the house, set- 


354 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ting an old sou’wester on his head, whereat Con 
sat up stolidly, blinking at the smart shower, in- 
different, now, to the raindrops, which he dis- 
liked as much as he loved salt water. 

The sight of this oiled-up, squatting fisherman 
almost did for the passenger, who presently tum- 
bled forth on deck, too, a night’s sleep together 
with the fact that the vessel was now in smooth 
water, having restored his inner equilibrium. 

Later in the day Oakley and he went ashore 
in a dory with the skipper, but, as Gardner had 
foretold, no bait was available, no herring in 
the traps; local fishermen were finding bait more 
golden in attendance upon the whims of summer 
visitors. 

“ If we only had that dory-load of herring, 
now, that we dipped up from the Essex river on 
the night we went torching with Uncle Joe, 
wouldn’t it come in handy ? ” laughed Gage, 
glancing up at a fine hotel where, last year, he 
had spent a week with the Congressman — at two 
lads of his own age, lounging on white piazzas. 

Looking from them to the fishing vessel, lying 
“ to an anchor ” in the harbor, her creamy wings 
furled, thinking of her tan-faced “ crowd,” to 
whom Danger was so familiar that they nick- 
named it nine times out of ten, as they did one 
another, a boy realized how on that- fisherman’s 


THE FLARE-UP 


355 


deck, he was to come close for once to the wild 
struggle which skirts civilized life, makes it pos- 
sible! But of what a hand-to-hand skirmish for 
life that was to prove within the next twelve 
hours, he had little idea! 

That night the Gage lay in Winter Harbor 
where the skipper had succeeded in procuring 
bait : thirty barrels of herring fetched aboard next 
day in a dory, measured out in bushel baskets, 
Eddie Cass humming blithely the old Cape Breton 
couplet, as he heaved the first over the rail : 

“ Says Dugal-more to Donal-more, ‘ Bring on the scadding 
[herring] pot!’ 

Says Donal-more to Dugal-more, ‘ Dickens a pot I’ve got.’ ” 

No sooner was the last basket swung inboard, 
than the captain’s voice was heard : 

“ Well, boys, we’ll get under weigh — get out 
of this!” 

In a few minutes the anchor was hove short — 
then broken out ! Busy hands were making sail ! 
By afternoon, the Gage , sailing close-hauled, un- 
der four lowers, a damp breeze playing through 
her rigging, was bearing to the south east, well 
on her way to Georges, those naked spars, her 
topmasts — the kites had been taken in — point- 
ing warning fingers at the grey, bleary sky. 
Away to windward loomed a filmy wall — the 
color of milk and water. Like a shadowy spec- 


356 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


tator it had come upon the scene, with weird sud- 
denness, was watching the vessel as if bent on 
keeping an eye on her, flinging out ragged vapor- 
wings ahead — baffling scouts ! 

As if he felt its presence, the captain who had 
been below, came on deck and put an inquiry to 
Jimmy Sweetman, at the wheel: “ Wind haul- 
ing ahead? ” 

“ Aye, sir ! Shutting in thick o’ fog, too.” 

“ Put your wheel down ; let her come up into 
the wind: we’ll haul the sheets in.” 

As the vessel was “ shooting up in the wind,” 
head on to the shifting breeze, busy hands were 
trimming sheets, taking in sail. A minute she 
shook in the wind’s eye, reef-points rattling and 
chattering against the heavy duck, then was 
hauled onto her course again, staggering ahead, 
now, blindfold, slapped over the nose, as it were, 
every now and again, by the clammy breeze 
against her. 

“ Hark to those ropes — creaking and pop- 
ping! ” ejaculated Oak, a little later, as he stum- 
bled on deck, after supper, glancing up at the 
rigging, swept by weird noises, like ghostly raps. 

“ Fog has tightened ’em up; fog shrinks every- 
thing!” returned the Irishman. “Shutting in 
blinding thick! Be so thick, presently, that you 
could drink it,” while the milk and water wall, 


THE FLARE-UP 


357 


opening out like a stealthily advancing army, 
threw a wing out astern, so that the vessel was 
hemmed in — enveloped — as she groped on her 
way. 

“ Fetch up the horn ; keep her sounding every 
minute, or so; we’re not in the track of any 
steamers yet — will be after dark, though ! ” this 
from the skipper. 

And young Rose, who happened to stand near- 
est the cabin companionway — as he strolled aft, 
fortified by two mugs of the cook’s strong sea tea 
— tumbled below, dragged up the double horn in 
its wooden chest, set it under main-boom on the 
house, where the sound would carry furthest, and, 
starting to work the brake, drew forth a long 
rancous bellow which brought the passenger up 
standing. 

“ Great Neptune ! it’s enough to bring the 
gooseflesh — that and the creaking of those 
strings, overhead! Spooks in the rigging, to- 
night ! ” muttered Gage, glancing aloft, listening 
breathlessly to the surge of tightened rope on be- 
laying pin. 

“ It is shutting in blinding thick, and it didn’t 
seem to be much of a day for fog, either ! ” re- 
marked Johnny Tuck, squatting on the house. 

“ Oh, I’ll t’ink him pretty good day for fog — 
me!” returned Frenchy cheerily; but, for once, 


358 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the whistling “Tra-la!” was hushed on the lip 
of that blithe song bird. 

“ Twill be thick off Cashes Ledges as on 
Georges, to-night; fish won’t know when they're 
atop o’ the water, they’ll go on swimming up in 
the fog,” threw in Rowly Dunn, bringing up the 
fogged-fish fiction which had come near to being 
the death of Dickie, the vessel’s name-giver. 

“ Faith ! I’ve yet to see fish swimming in a 
fog. But when I was up on Green Island in 
the Bay o’ Fundy, I seen a man shingling his 
barn,” declared Barty mendaciously, “ and, be 
the heel o’ me shoe! ’twas so thick that he didn’t 
know when he got down to the eaves — shingled 
out onto the fog.” 

“ Pshaw ! they grind it out there,” threw in 
Gardner. 

“I ain’ see fog ver’ t’ick — me,” began 
Frenchy modestly. “ But I see him one time so 
t’ck dat one mans try for drink heem, an’ she 
mos’ choke hisself, an’ w’en we pull out dat fog, 
w’at dat man try for drink — we tak’ dat fog for 
mak’ broomstick ! ” romancing with ragged volu- 
bility. 

“Bravo, Frenchy, old boy; I knew you’d cap 
them all ! ” crowed Gage, beaming on this ship- 
yard Hyacinthe, seated on the house — with the 
horn raving near his ear, one short bark, as the 


THE ELARE-UP 


359 


vessel tacked to starboard, trying to get along — 
looking in his baggy oilskins, like some queer 
yellow bulb which had sprouted there, fostered 
by the heavy moisture. “ They can’t get ahead 
of you — Bulb ! ” laughed the Latin School boy. 

No one seemed eager to try; beneath the spurt 
of gaiety under which they had burlesqued the 
fog that might at any moment be their undoing, 
probably each man heard echoing the skipper’s 
words : “ Not in the track of any steamers, yet 

— but we will be after dark ! ” 

“ I tell you, boys, I’m going to turn in and get 
a kink ! ” said The Pin. “ No knowing how 
soon it may be : 4 All hands on deck, and lose no 

time ! ’ ” 

One by one, other stragglers followed his ex- 
ample; among them, that pair of bunkmates, 
Oakley and the passenger — shaking dank sou’- 
wester and oil-clothes, ere turning in — even, the 
latter had been “ oiled-up ” while on deck, or the 
heavy fog would have soaked his clothing, like a 
deluge. 

Not much else did they shed, save boots. 
Neither could sleep. The desolate lowing of that 
fog-horn directly overhead sounding like a be- 
reaved cow, searching the fog for her calf — one 
prolonged, melancholy blast, now, as the vessel, 
finding breeze fail her, ceased to tack, lay be- 


360 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


calmed, or nearly so — that mournful lowing 
kept fetching each boy up awake, as if his head 
came a bumper against the fore-boom, or some- 
thing else on deck. 

By-and-by the passenger did lose conscious- 
ness. And in the minute-and-a-half intervals, 
* young Rose felt sleep fumbling at his eyelids, 
too, buttoning them close. 

All of a sudden, they came unbuttoned , with 
a wild start! A clammy breath swept down the 
dusky companionway, tickling him in the nostrils 
like a wet feather ! 

The slide, partly drawn across, was shot back! 
In the dim yellow gleam of cabin and binnacle 
lamps — latter on a shelf, within a small skylight, 
near the compass, lighting that up so that man 
at wheel could see it — Oakley beheld a tall 
shadowy figure stoop to the brass curtain-rod of 
the skipper’s bunk, opposite, and heard the voice 
of the lookout, Jimmy Sweetman, with a raspy 
scrape of anxiety in it: 

“ Steamer’s whistle away to the east’ard, skip- 
per : getting nearer! ” 

Simultaneously, intertwined with the sound of 
the vessel’s horn, like two maniacs lost in the fog 
and raving together, came the long, shrill note of 
a Liner’s whistle! 

That double-barreled blast of sound, together 


THE FLARE-UP 


361 


with a faint feather of breeze stealing down the 
companionway in Jimmy’s wake, blew the lad’s 
breath out of his nostrils back into his throat, 
where it piled like a fog-bank. 

As the green curtain of the skipper’s bunk was 
pushed out into dim lamplight, while a half- 
clad man rushed on deck in his stocking-feet, for 
a moment, that flutter of figured green looked to 
Oakley like shaggy marsh-grass, flanking a fog- 
wreathed trestle! In a second, memory swam 
through the scene which led to his meeting with 
Gage, his bunkmate, snoring lightly beside him, 
nearer than bunkmate, now — dangermate ! 

Down the hatchway again sounded the steam- 
er’s whistle. Simultaneously there was a stamp- 
ing of heavy boots on deck — supplemented by 
Jimmy’s voice yelling down the companion way : 
“ All hands, rush to save your necks : steamer 
close aboard ! ” 

“ What ? Wh-what’s all — that ? ” Green- 
gage started awake, as if some sudden lurch of 
the vessel had spilled him out of the double bunk, 
rubbing knuckles into eyes, sleep-shot and 
dreamy — yellow hair tossed like a last-year’s 
haymow! As the dim lamp-rays fell on him, 
frolic-hearted schoolboy, Oak had an odd sen- 
sation as if all the taut strings of feeling in 
himself were hitched round something outside, 


362 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


felt that his bunkmate’s danger was more 
vivid than his own ! 

“ Call — call for all hands ! Steamer — 
steamer coming for us ! ” he ground out close to 
his companion’s ear. 

And as noiseless as ghosts in their stocking- 
feet, two boys were streaking up the dim com- 
panionway, forth on deck — to mingle with an 
equally silent crowd, raising no outcry, though 
somewhere through the blanketing fog Death was 
advancing, purblind. 

And in all probability they would just have to 
stand and meet him, stand and “ take it,” seeing 
that the fog-breeze had waned to a swooning 
puff : take the shock of great steel prow cutting 
gallant little Gage, the “ dog,” the “ hummer,” in 
two! Trampling and sinking her with such tyr- 
anny of bulk and mechanical force that half the 
passengers on the steamer would be blissfully 
unconscious of running down anything, of leav- 
ing crazed men fighting for life in a sucking 
whirlpool of foam and wreckage ! 

“ The flare-up! Go, get the torch!” It was 
Captain Ceeph’s voice, cooler than it had sounded 
in the Essex shipyard, when his nephew heard it 
after a bunch of years. That nephew was near- 
est to the cabin hatchway, silent feet having just 
touched deck. He pitched down the companion- 


THE FLARE-UP 


363 


way again faster than he had tumbled up, to fetch 
the emergency torch, the fisherman’s one flaming 
hope, when fog blankets his puny horn, and 
Death advances against its raving protest. 

“ Skipper — here you are ! ” the lad felt his 
cheeks pale and cold as he stood abaft dark wheel- 
box, at the captain’s elbow, holding the big two- 
gallon can, with its inflammable mixture of 
benzine and kerosene, in which the torch, a great 
roll of cotton wick, with one end fluffed out into 
a round pompon, was immersed. The other 
wick-end was set into a tin handle and sconce 
which formed the cover of the can. 

An absorbed skipper took no notice for half-a- 
minute: he was listening with an ear in every 
heartbeat for that coming whistle. Again it 
sounded nearer! 

“ Coming east-by-so’the ! ” he muttered. “ Put 
your wheel down,” hurriedly to Barty, steering; 
“ let her come about on the port tack : we’ll 
stand a better show than laying to, or heading 
towards her! Stand by with the flare-up !” to 
the pale lad at his elbow, knowing that others of 
the crew were attending to the sheets. 

And as the vessel tried feebly to creep off on 
the port tack, the horn with Gardner working 
the brake, doubled its protest — raving twice 
now, at minute intervals. 


364 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Would the look-out on the steamer hear it? 
Would the swooning fog-breeze, trailing like 
clammy wisps across that vessel’s deck be suffi- 
cient to keep her off, to bring the terrorizing 
whistle astern, or render the impact less — if col- 
lision there must be ? “ Or must they — must 

they — stand and take it ? ” So a youthful pas- 
senger was asking himself with a queer stiffness 
about his collar bone, as if his head wouldn’t turn 
easily, while he tried to penetrate the thick blind- 
ness around, starting violently as the deck became 
a rookery: for, now, the puny dory-horn in its 
small box, cawed, too, like an awakened crow, 
supplementing the vessel’s horn ! 

“ Give us — your light!” Of a sudden, the 
skipper plucked the pompon torch from its sheath- 
ing can, held by the lad beside him, thrust it 
dripping inside the cabin hatchway, where stood 
Ned Say wood, binnacle lamp in hand — a match 
could not be trusted, at this juncture! 

A weird sound of shivered glass — shattered 
on the cabin floor — as Ned’s scorched fingers 
plucked off the hot chimney! A wild yelp from 
Con, the vessel’s canine mascot ! Pompon kissed 
lamp-flame: and in a twinkling the deck, aft, 
with those on it, was caught in a cage of 
light, as the round emergency torch hol- 
lowed out a sphere in the foggy darkness — 


THE FLARE-UP 


365 


dripping a rain of fire on wet planks that shone 
white as a hound’s tooth again — white as at the 
moment of launching ! 

But those on look-out for’ard, beyond that 
luminous cave, hollowed by the dripping flare- 
up, were yelling out that they saw a star — a 
steamer’s headlight ! 

Those, aft, heard a long, low rumble: the 
thresh of waters against a great boat’s side, heavy 
panting of a steamer’s exhaust! 

“ Good Lord ! if that fellow strikes us, he’ll 
sink us like a cod-lead,” heaved out Jimmy Sweet- 
man, with a bated sob that sounded like an invo- 
cation. 

Simultaneously there sounded three wild blasts 
of the steamer’s whistle! 

“ Her look-out has sighted the Hare-up! Hold 
her up — the torch ! ” choked out a boy, stand- 
ing by with the great can, sputtering as if he 
had swallowed a drop of the fiery rain, while the 
deck tableau burned itself on his brain forever: 
skipper, in his shirtsleeves, holding aloft the 
beaded flare-up, men's faces — boy-passenger’s 
among them — washed pale by the glare, like 
death-masks, skirting the light-cave ! Barty’s, 
stiffened out of every flexible line, hanging like a 
fixed star above the wheel, his eye trained side- 
wise on the skipper. 


366 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Hard up your wheel! Ready with your 
knives to cut away the dories ! ” 

Then, an awful swooping moment! Rush of 
waters ! Black shape — steamer’s prow — slit- 
ting the fog like an envelope, brushing bars of the 
light-cage. A sort of beheaded feeling in every 
man, as if he were being cut in two before the 
vessel ! 

And then a hurling sob : “ She’s — she’s — 
going clear ! She’s clearing us ! She’s — rub- 
bing by! ” 

The gliding of a great mountain astern, the 
threshing of a noisy propeller in the darkness, so 
close that swash of the steamer’s wake boiled 
over a trembling rail, wetting down the half-clad 
men. 

“ ’Twas a close shave, boys! She — she al- 
most rubbed us ! ” Captain Ceeph’s voice broke 
a little as he extinguished the pompon flare-up by 
popping it back into its air-tight can, clapping 
down the lid. 

“I — I tell you, b’y, if that fellow had struck 
us, there’d ha’ been lots o’ kindling wood in the 
water ! ” muttered Bluebeard, in half-strangled 
tones. “ Poor passenger — poor b’y — his hair 
will stand straight for three days, after this ! ” 
He seized Gage round the waist, heaved him 
aloft, then dropped him with a thud on deck ! 


THE FLARE-UP 


367 


“ It’s — it’s flat as your own — now ! ” hys- 
terically maintained the schoolboy, rubbing the 
other's sleek bare head, till the hair stood out in 
a black brush. 

Under cover of throbbing darkness, Gardner 
had flung his arms round Little Tuck and was 
hugging him. 

“ Ciel ! w’at time he rub by — dat’s de time 
I’ll t’ink I see two, t’ree beeg boat — ’stead o’ 
one! ” muttered Frenchy, while he shinned round, 
with other half-wet ones, getting the sheets aft, 
and the vessel was hauled on to her course again. 
“ Befo’ I’ll turn in — guess I’ll have some cof- 
fee — hein ? ” 

“To brace up your nerve! Good idea, 
Frenchy!” muttered The Pin. “Guess, we’d 
all feel the better for a mug-up.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


IN THE TIDE RIP 

/T^ wheel !” said Oakley, as he 
\ / 1 tramped on deck next morning, 
with the approved fisherman’s 
stamp, as if he were bombarding the bed of the 
ocean. 

It was shipmates’ watch, now, not dory-mates’ 
together. Johnny Tuck came on with him, and 
took his station up forward in the bow, on look- 
out. 

Fog had lifted. Weather was clear. The 
Gage with everything on her, was humming some 
again. There were gay, chirking noises in her 
rigging, as it stretched after the clammy shrink- 
ing; it almost seemed as if the vessel herself, was 
chirping her gratitude that she was not lying at 
the bottom of the ocean — sunk like a cod-lead ! 

“ Man ! she’s going like a slate sliding down- 
hill, now,” blew off the youthful helmsman, to 
the passenger — when the latter came on deck, 
rather sleepy-eyed — glorying in the sensation of 
power given by that tawny wheel between his 
368 


IN THE TIDE RIP 


369 


hands, insignificant-looking apparatus enough to 
sway ninety-odd feet of dancing vessel with some 
hundred-and-ten feet of mainmast and topmast, 
dizzying to the eye as it squinted aloft. 

“ She’s certainly feeling the weight of those 
kites again ! ” ran on the wheel-man, with a bub- 
bly feeling in his subconsciousness, born of the 
riot, the tumble, foam, sky, wheel answering in- 
stinctively to the least heave of his muscles, that, 
even so, was he destined to feel “ the weight of 
the kites,” again, as he hummed on his course, 
buoyantly sure of getting there — showing others 
the road ! 

But, just now, there was only room on the 
crest of thought for the vessel and her perform- 
ances! She was once more the saucy dog, the 
bird, the sliding slate : he exhausted all his 
epithets upon her! So did the passenger, who 
presently took the wheel and steered her a mile, 
or so, his eye on the compass in its binnacle, a 
few feet from him, within cabin skylight — Barty 
giving him a lesson as to how he should obey the 
skipper, if the latter was on deck, bidding him 
“ Heave up a couple of points and keep her 
off : ” and so forth. 

“ Steers like a whaleboat, doesn’t she ? ” 
breezed Oak. 

“ She’s just ‘ training on,’ this morning!” he 


370 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


laughed by-and-by. “ Steamers ain’t in it! 
Ever see such actions ? ” as the Gage dipped her 
quarter-rail, beginning to slide and jump giddily, 
amid an irregular dance of water — seemingly 
the foamy skirts of some wilder commotion. 

“ Better take your wheel again, lad ! ” advised 
the Irishman. “ She don’t steer like a whale- 
boat, with the passenger handling her ; I guess, to 
you, it comes natural! Arrah, keep off there or 
I’ll thransmogrify ye into an Angora goat ! ” to 
Greengage, as the latter went for him, nettled by 
the reflection on his steering. 

“ There’s quite a little tumble o’ sea on now,” 
added Barty presently. “ A power an’ all o’ 
white water off there, to leeward ! ” studying it 
anxiously. “ Looks to me like a pretty strong 
tide rip. Guess, we’re nearer to Cashes Ledge 
than the skipper thinks; I suppose he’s below, 
going on the chart.” 

At that very moment, Captain Cephas came 
on deck. “ Tide’s sent us to south’ard quicker 
than I thought, boys,” he said. “ Throw the 
lead over ; see what water we’ve got.” 

Barty, standing at the quarter-rail, dropped 
the heavy sounding lead over the side. 

“ Bottom at fifteen fathoms ! ” he announced 
presently. 

“ Low water, now,” rumbled the skipper. 


IN THE TIDE RIP 


371 


“ First flood setting to north’ard, from Cashes 
Ledge.” 

“ Pretty dangerous! ” supplemented Ned Say- 
wood. “ Guess, we’ll have hard work to clear it 
— that tide rip — it’s getting stronger every min- 
ute.” 

“ We’re be the way o’ sailing away from it, 
an’ all the time the current is dragging us to- 
wards it over the bottom,” explained Barty to the 
keyed-up passenger. “ You see, there’s a power 
o’ sunken rocks an’ ledges on Cashes Shoal. The 
rock itself — the principal one — is seldom seen ; 
once in a while I’ve heard men say, it comes out 
o’ water, white as a ghost ! ” There was a thrill 
of superstition in the Irishman’s voice. 

“ Well, all the water that’s crowded onto them 
ledges at low tide, there ain’t room for it — just 
boils over like a pot with too many ’taties in it, 
goes round an’ round in a w’irl — boils chock 
up from the bottom, strings out for miles, that’s 
what forms the rip. If the vessel once got into 
it, she’d never get out alive ; she’d wash to pieces 
in a few minutes.” 

“ Mercy ! I never imagined a sea, like that — 
throwing up great lumps of white water ! ” panted 
the passenger, tense with excitement, staring at 
that strung-out boil to leeward. 

For the past quarter of an hour Oakley had 


372 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


been thinking the same thing, as he battled with 
the wheel to hold the vessel to her course — the 
current dragging her irresistibly towards the rip ! 
Now, his ninety minutes’ steering was up; 
Johnny Tuck, his watchmate, took the helm, the 
novice went forward, on look-out. 

“ I guess the skipper’s saying his prayers, now 
— praying for more breeze! Wind’s moder- 
ating all the time; we’re losing our wind!” 
grated The Pin, as he heard the captain’s order 
to Johnny Tuck, to “ swing her off to east’ard,” 
while busy hands paid the main-sheet out to the 
knot. 

But the rip was now boiling astern. The ves- 
sel shivered and shook between rival forces con- 
tending for her: the current dragging her back 
toward the whirlpool — toward that “ boiling pot 
of water ” — while her sails, with a little breeze 
aloft, just tickling the kites, wrestled like mighty 
angels for her salvation. 

“ I tell ye, boy, she won’t clear it — bound to 
pass through the tail of it any way ! ” ground out 
Eddie Cass. 

“ She’s into it, now! ” yelled Barty, a few 
minutes later. “ Into the rigging! Up into the 
rigging with ye! ’Twill boil over her in another 
minute,” dragging the passenger with him into the 
main-rigging, while Oak and others grouped for- 


IN THE TIDE RIP 373 

’ard and clambered at a wild scurry into the 
fore. 

Only two men were left on deck, the captain 
and Little Tuck — Johnny, gallant Gloucester 
laddie — with nerve of whalebone, sticking to 
weath’ard of his wheel, never budging an inch! 

“ Guess, Johnny is just setting his teeth — an’ 
letting her go ! ” grated Gardner. “ Holy sailor ! 
What lumps of white water — never saw it like 
that before ! ” as transparent boulders thrown off 
by the boil, sailed over the vessel’s rail, till her 
deck was all a-wash. 

“ She’s drawing out , boy ! She won’t go in 
any further. Skipper’s going to take the wheel, 
himself ! ” seethed Bluebeard all in one breath. 

Before the captain could do so, and just as the 
vessel drew out — the strong tide which had car- 
ried her down only taking her through skirts of 
the rip — a big sea, great lump of water, leaped, 
hissing, over the stern-rail, sprang at the wheel- 
man’s throat, bore him down — down — down 
upon the smothered wheel-box ! 

It fell back, roaring, a foamy cataract, leaving 
the skipper crawling out from under the weather 
rail, his oilskins rivered like a watershed. Leav- 
ing a washed deck clear of everything not lashed ! 
Too clear ! There was no Johnny ! 

No Little Tuck! No stalwart lad, stiffened to 


37 4 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


his wheel, setting his teeth as the vessel pulled 
through ! Only foamy acres of pale boil trailing 
out astern; only, the broken, irregular sea hang- 
ing on its skirts — and in that no sign of Johnny ! 


CHAPTER XXVII 
fo’c’s’le yarns 

IKE a flash, fishermen, leaping from 



the rigging onto the reeking deck, were 


loosing gripes — dory lashings. Just two 
minutes, and a dory was in the water : three men 
in her, Barty, Little Tuck’s dorymate, Sweetman, 
and The Pin! 

“ There’s Johnny — there’s the boy : I — I see 
him ! ” yelled Cass. “ He seems to have got hold 
of something — a bait-plank — loosened off the 
house, most likely ! ” pointing in choking excite- 
ment to a ragged water-hill some fifty yards to 
leeward, where, momentarily, appeared a round, 
dark something like the black-ball on a trawl. 

Next instant it and the buoying plank were 
submerged in a foamy hollow. 

“ He’s caught in the slop o’ the sea ! She was 
just pulling out o’ the rip — when she took that 
lee lurch and the last big lump o’ water swep’ 
aboard! ” cried Ned Say wood. 

But the foamy “ slop ” of that boiling pot was 
bad enough. 


375 


376 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ They’ll never get him,” groaned Reuben 
Marr, with long, kicking breaths, his horny 
hands convulsively gripping the lee rail — eyes 
starting from his set face. “ His head would be 
as much under water as out from the minute he 
went overboard; that sea would roll him and the 
plank over an’ over. He’d likely go down in one 
spot — shoot up in another ! ” 

“ There he is — again ! His head : I see 
it!” screamed the passenger, and his heart 
creaked in the cry. How often he had read in 
newspapers — that passenger — of one man and 
another washed overboard from fishing vessel — 
sometimes, of a whole crew gone in gale or col- 
lision — read it with a passing cluck of regret. 
Agonizingly different, now! The schoolboy felt 
as if that boiling rip would have scalded him 
within for all time, if its skirts got Johnny. 

The head had disappeared again in a hollow 
of water, but in brave faith that it was still there, 
one of his ship-mates clambered into the rigging 
to watch for it, while others kept calling from the 
deck: 

“ Take it cool, Johnny! Take it easy, Johnny 
hoy! Hang on ! They’re getting to you ; they’ll 
be at you in a minute with a boat ! Hang on ! ” 

“ Hang — hang on ! T ake it cool — Johnny ! ” 
echoed Oakley and the passenger half deliriously. 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


377 


neither “ taking it cool ” himself, each feeling as 
if he could hardly bear things when Reuben burst 
forth as if haranguing the rip : 

“Johnny never would be lashed to a wheel; 
always said he’d rather stand his chance of going 
overboard any day, than of being cut in two by 
a rope if a sea forced him backward. Whoo’! 
Whoo’ ! My soul ! they — they see him — making 
for him! There’s Barty standing by to grab 
him.” 

“Well done! they’re landing him like a hali- 
but,” panted Dacre. “ Whoo’ ! Whoo’ ! Ever 
see a dory stretch herself like that one? They 
just drove her” His young voice, so quick on 
repartee as they left the wharf, sounded like the 
heavy panting of an exhaust. 

The dory, herself, was fighting for life amid 
the commotion on the skirts of the rip; it was 
touch-and-go work to haul in a drowning man in 
that irregular shindy of waters. None but fish- 
ermen used to landing a two-hundred pound 
halibut in rough weather, without capsizing, could 
have done it ! But, like a swimming deer, keep- 
ing up bravely, with a frothing pack about her, 
the little fawn-colored rowboat was now making 
for the vessel — bringing Johnny! 

“ It’s limp as a dish-rag he is — ’most done 
for ! ” groaned Barty, blowing from hard strain, 


378 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


as the injured man was hoisted up to the rail. 
“ His leg is hurted, I guess ; don’t know but it’s 
broken. Yah! bad manners to it for a rip: 
sure it came near getting us all — an’ the vessel, 
too” 

“ If she’d gone in quarter of a mile further 
she’d never have come out again ; she’d have come 
unsawdered under us — washed to pieces ! ” mut- 
tered another, as Johnny was carried to his 
fo’c’s’le bunk, for brotherly tending. 

“ I guess you’ll be without a dorymate this 
trip, Bart; Johnny has been suffering like a thole- 
pin ; he’ll be lame for a good many days — 
too lame to go in a dory an’ set trawl!” 
said the cook, head nurse aboard, in Barty’s ear, 
when he came on deck to call the first table gang 
to dinner, while the vessel, with her sails filling 
again — she had been all shaking and fluttering, 
wind spilling out of them, while in the rip — was 
steering off to the east’ard, to avoid Cashes Shoal. 

“ Then, I’ll have to put up with you, cookie — 
or take out the passenger ! ” returned the Irish- 
man. “ Don’t know but I’ll try the passenger 
first; I guess, he can row some, and him an’ me 
are old cronies, eh, Gagie, boy?” noticing that 
Gage looked as if the picture of Johnny fighting 
for life in that foamy shindy, and racked like a 
creaking thole-pin, came between him and the sun. 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


379 


However under the prospect of going in the 
dory to make a set on Georges with one of those 
tubs of trawl-line which he had fingered in the 
Essex shipyard, the passenger presently revived, 
while the skipper’s order sounded to Ned Say- 
wood, at the wheel : “ Keep her head to the 

east’ard, till we’re well clear o’ Cashes Shoal; 
we don’t want to get carried down again. It’s 
breezing up some ! ” thankfully, looking off to- 
ward that distant tide rip, throwing up its lumps 
of water, now a mere restless blurr against the 
horizon. 

By-and-by, word was brought up that Johnny 
was now comfortable, his bruised body no longer 
pain-racked. In the double reaction from scare 
of the night before and, now, from the threatened 
sadness of losing one of their men, there devel- 
oped all along the deck a frolicsome disposition to 
“ train on ! ” By late afternoon, when the vessel 
was hauled up again on her direct course to 
Georges, humming before a friendly nor’wester, 
it became a “ carrying on,” in which Oak was 
the carried victim. 

When the cook’s whistle hailed the second table 
to supper, the latter, who had been lounging aft, 
starting forward to go below, found himself in 
the neighborhood of Frenchy, as usual placidly 
smoking, seated on the house. 


380 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Well, Frenchy, old boy! ” he cried, gleefully, 
“ you’re not singing much, to-day ; how’re you 
feeling? ” 

“ I’ll not be feelin’ ver’ well — me,” gurgled 
Hyacinthe, “ w’at time I see dem beeg boat las’ 
night, com’ for us, den I’ll wish me back in dat 
sheepyar’ w’ere I w’ang in dem tre’ nail — 
hein ?” half-laughingly. 

“ I’m not wishing myself back in the shipyard 
— not yet,” flung back the boy. “ ’T would take 
a few more minutes in a tide rip — ” 

Before the sentence was finished he felt him- 
self seized from behind, swung off the deck, like 
a sapling, onto the Irishman’s broad back, carried 
to the forecastle companionway, pointed down 
it, head foremost, while a rich voice cried : 

“ Faith! I’m going to give you a small taste 
of what you gave the passenger, first day out, 
when you held him, nose down over the rail, to 
smell the waves.” 

As Barty, with his burden, reached the fo’c’s’le 
companionway, he managed to wriggle out from 
under it, wrenched free the hold which the green- 
horn succeeded in getting on top rungs of the 
companion ladder, and seizing the latter by 
the feet, lowered him until his palms touched the 
fo’c’s’le floor. There he was left to turn a somer- 
sault, pick himself up as best he could, while the 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


381 


Irishman seated himself placidly in his place at 
the triangular table. 

“ Come on with your good old sea tea, cook ! ” 
he roared invitingly. “ Able-seaman’s tea — hot 
and strong! Sure, me throat is as dry as a zinc 
hawse-pipe. But, faith! I’m not as bad off as 
some — who’re so anxious for their supper that 
they have to come down, head-fust ! ” with an in- 
sinuating glance in the greenhorn’s direction. 

The latter, meanwhile, was taking his cue from 
a very freehearted salt-cellar adjacent to Bar- 
ty’s plate. While the Irishman turned him about, 
to inquire into Johnny’s feelings — Little Tuck 
had been lying in his bunk all the afternoon, with 
the passenger intermittently reading aloud to him 
from “ Tom Brown’s School Days ” — young 
Rose with the deftness of a pickpocket managed 
to smuggle a heaping teaspoonful of salt into the 
mug of able-seaman’s tea, which the cook depos- 
ited at Barty’s elbow. 

“ H’ist the jumbo on that sugar bucket, 
Mudgie, boy! ” said the Irishman a minute later. 
“ Slide her down : drive her ! ” 

“Here goes — if you won’t bale her dry!” 
laughed young Murray Sellar. “ You’d bale in 
sugar till doomsday, unless some fellow got you 
by the elbow, Bart ! ” 

The fo’c’s’le, in general, held its breath for the 


382 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


denouncement while Barty sweetened and stirred 
his “ sea tea,” and took a long gulp of the steam- 
ing beverage! 

“ Eyeh ! ” he gasped, setting the mug down, 
with the grin of a contortionist. 

“ What’s up; don’t it taste good?” inquired 
Gardner solicitously. “ Holy smoke ! Barty, 
your face would make a dogfish chuck his her- 
ring.” 

“ ‘ Good ? 9 ” echoed the able seaman. 
“ Taste ? ; It tastes just like the mixture me 
mother used to get into us when we were little 
kids an’ had the measles: saltpetre, sugar, an’ 
salt, melted together, in water. I guess, the cook 
has emptied the ocean into his copper boiler — 
made the tea with brine ! ” 

“ Rats ! Never did such a thing in my life ! ” 
cried the indignant steward. 

“ Then, this is your doing, you imp of mis- 
chief ! ” O’Halloran seized Oak’s wrist in vise- 
like grip. “ Och eyeh ! the wickedness in the 
young hear-rt: I’m glad it’s cookie, there, or the 
passenger, not you, I’ll have for a dorymate, 
while Johnnie is tied be the leg! ” 

And conversation veered to the fishing pros- 
pects on Georges. 

“ If the haddock are there, we’ll get ’em : trust 
the skipper ! ” laughed Barty. “ He’s hard to 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


383 


beat. Guess I promised to tell the passenger, 
some time or other, about how his crew got the 
better of him once, though, when he wanted to 
fish a little longer, to put the cream on the trip, 
an’ they were heartbroke to get home after bein’ 
three months out, with dirty weather, for the 
most part.” 

“ Go ahead : tell it now, Bart ! Let her go ; rip 
her out ; drive her ! ” invited the second table 
gang. 

“ Well! we were coming in from Quero Bank, 
where we’d been dory handlining — fishing for 
cod, single dories, one man in each — ” began the 
Irishman, explaining for the passenger’s benefit. 
“ Nothing would do the skipper but he must stop 
on Middle Ground to fish some more an’ cap the 
trip! Well! when he dropped anchor and passed 
the word : ‘ Come, boys, strike out the dories ! ’ 
it ’most broke our hearts. Ned Say wood, he 
was salter aboard, then, he tackled him. ‘ I guess 
we’re seeing bottom on the grub, skipper,’ he 
says, ‘ cook’s in his last barrel o’ flour ! ’ 

“ ‘ Can’t starve here, Ned,’ says the old man, 
‘ plenty o’ vessels, around ! ’ ‘ But the water, 

skipper? ’ gets off Ned, thinking sure he had him 
there. ‘ Pump’s in its last barrel ! ’ Captain 
Ceeph, he squints at the sky : ‘ Guess ’twill rain, 
to-night, Ned ! ’ he says. 


384 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Well, at that, we knew the dories had to go 
over; we weren’t going to try any back-talk on 
the skipper — good a captain as ever breathed, 
an’ considerate, too, about sending the men out 
in rough weather! So the crowd came on deck, 
all oiled up — meek as if their hair was larded ! 

“ Overboard they went, stayed out quite a 
while, too! When the first man came aboard, 
he looked that mournful — so the cook said 
afterwards — as if he’d lost all belonging to him. 

‘ Nary a bite,’ he says; ‘ this ground seems to 
be as bare o’ fish as the palm o’ me hand o’ hair ! ’ 
It was the same story with every one o’ fourteen 
men as we came over the vessel’s side: 4 Fish 
not biting, at all ! ’ 

“ At last, came Patsy Heggerty ; he was a 
Cork man. ‘ The curses o’ Doneraile on them 
for fish,’ says he. ‘ ’Twas the dumb fools they 
made of us — an’ they not there, at all ! ’ But he 
threw the tail-end o’ a wink at me. Never a 
wink o’ Patsy’s was lost on the skipper ; he knew 
in a jiffy what had happened — men had moused 
the hooks! ” 

“ What — tied them up in the gangion lines 
so that the fish couldn’t get at the bait ? ” gasped 
Oakley. 

“ The very caper ! You should ha’ seen the 
old man’s face, boys: first, he looked mad as 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


385 


thunder; then, he just sized it up, that sixteen 
Gloucester men were bound and determined not 
to fish any longer, an’ had too much respect for 
him to say so, with any back talk ! A queer look 
came into his eye; he tumbled below, be way 
o’ looking at the chart! Next thing we knew, 
his head came up through the companionway for 
a minute. ‘ Well, boys,’ he said, ‘ get the mud- 
hook, and put the duck on her ! ’ Inside o’ 
twenty minutes we were humming for home ! ” 

A general cluck of applause greeted Barty’s 
yarn. Story followed story — men sprawling on 
the fo’c’s’le benches, while the cook cleared off 
the table, and washed dishes in the fore-hold — 
and bruised Johnny lay in his bunk, placidly 
smoking. 

Skipper yarns and shark yarns ! Reubie Marr 
was great on the former: he had been with 
the renowned halibuting skipper who took his 
vessel over North East Bar, off Sable Island — 
graveyard of untold vessels — in a nor’ westerly 
gale: a Viking feat, the like of which was prob- 
ably never equaled, couldn’t be surpassed. 

“ Land o’ Goshen ! I won’t forget it in a 
hurry,” said Reuben. “ There were the miles 
an’ miles of towering breakers like a white wall 
between us an’ the other world, and the vessel, 
everything on her, heading straight for them ; she 


386 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


wouldn’t run any way but before the wind; no 
anchor could hold her! An’ that nor’westerly 
screecher just hounding her on to the bar, where 
fourteen miles off shore there was only twelve 
feet o’ water ! ” 

“ Preserve us ! ” exclaimed the Irishman ; the 
story-teller’s face had gained color under its tan. 

“ Well, the skipper, he came on deck, looked 
at them breakers — just as cool, he was! ‘It’s 
every one for himself, now, boys ! ’ he says, never 
never thinking of himself at all. ‘ Those of you 
who want to get below, do so, an’ draw the slides 
tight over! Those of you who prefer to take 
chances in the rigging, get high up as you 
can! I’m going to take the wheel myself. We 
may go — ’ he says, or something like that — 
‘ but if we do, we’ll go game ! ’ ” 

Reuben’s voice broke; his eye was brimful of 
humid light that seemed to spill over on the 
fo’c’s’le gang. 

“ I was in the main-rigging,” he went on. 
“ And I never’ll lose the sight of him standing to 
the wheel — or the crazy feeling in my head when 
I tumbled to it, that he was going to take her 
right through the breakers over the shoal bar: 
that where a poor-hearted man would have tried 
to anchor, knowing that a dozen anchors couldn’t 
hold her — would have let Death come for him — 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 


387 


he was going to wrastle him right on his own 
ground ! 

“An’ a big wrastle, it was! The foam just 
whizzed through the highest rigging in lumps 
from the size of a peanut, to that of a bushel 
basket. Over an’ over him, it went — he not 
lashed to the wheel, either ! Good life ! I don’t 
know how he stuck there, but he did. Right 
through the breakers an’ ’cross the bar she went, 
’must have gone over on the back of a sea — 
couldn’t have done it, else, without going aground 
an’ washing to pieces. In a few minutes we were 
in smooth water. Oh! we had one man among 
us, that day: that was the skipper,” finished 
Reuben Marr, who was a good deal of a man 
himself. 

Each eye in the fo’c’s’le was moistly shining. 
Oakley’s and the passenger’s frankly brimmed, 
watering this tale of dead-game heroism. 

“ I’ve sailed with more than one cracker-jack,” 
said Reuben, “ but never with the likes of him — 
he could lay ’em all over cold ! ” 

“ I tell ye, boy, I’ve been with Captain Ceeph 
when he took big chances, too!” said Jimmy 
Sweetman, loyal to the present skipper; Jimmy 
had been in the navy during the Spanish war; 
was strong on comparisons. “ Talking of 
chances, I’d rather take mine any day, so far as 


388 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


danger is concerned, on a man-o’-war, even in 
a real hard campaign, than fishing the year 
round, out o’ Gloucester/’ he went on. “ In war, 
one side or other is bound to squeal pretty soon; 
an’ there’s an end — if you ain’t ended first ! 
But in winter fishing there are just two days out 
o’ the whole season, maybe, that you feel safe; 
that goes on, year in, year out, for most of us! 
Even in summer; why! everyone has heard tell 
of that August blow that' did so much mis- 
chief—” 

“ Oh, let up on August ‘ blows,’ Jimmy,” mut- 
tered Gardner, with a side-glance at the passen- 
ger, evidently feeling that between steamer- 
scare of the preceding midnight and beholding 
Johnny fighting for breath on the skirts of the 
rip, Greengage had had his amateur’s share of 
the sea’s terrorizing. 

Frenchy, indeed, plainly bored by the half- 
comprehended talk, had begun to hum in his mu- 
sical tenor : “By avait trois mar ins! ” And the 
fo’c’s’le squad all agog for a change of enter- 
tainment, besought him to “ let her go ” ; to 
“ drive her — drive her, fore and ’aft ! ” 

The program veered to a concert in which se- 
lections were varied and snatchy, from “ The 
Chinese Emperor’s Wedding ” and such-like 
classics in duet between Oakley and the passen- 


FO’C’S’LE YARNS 389 

ger, to “ The Christening ” and “ Father 
O’Flynn,” from Barty : 

“ Here’s a health to ye, Father O’Flynn, 

Slainte and slainte and slainte, agin! 

Tenderest taicher, and powerfulest praicher, 

An kindliest craychure in — all Don-e-gal ! ” 

As the Irishman sang, his eye gradually ceased 
to reflect hard sea-pictures; it took on a softened 
haze, that had nothing in common with foggy 
sea-mull, but seemed rather a reminiscent whiff 
from low-lying vapor on blue hills, near his Tip- 
perary home. 

“ All the old sinners are wishful to pray with ye, 

All the young childer are wild for to play with ye, 
You’se such a way with ye — Father avick!” 

he hummed softly; and was no longer a dare- 
devil fisherman, but a barefoot boy, learning the 
Lord’s Prayer and Acts of Faith, Hope, and 
Charity at the knee of that “ tenderest taicher,” 
or one like him. 

Others succumbed to the memory spell, too: 
hardly one in the dim little fo’c’s’le — from buf- 
feted Johnny to the passenger — but was think- 
ing of Mother, or of some hand which had held 
high the lamp of faith, some voice that had whis- 
pered of “ things not seen — ” Oakley, with a 
warm lump in his throat, of an old man who had 
stepped out, “ fearing no evil for reasons ! ” 


390 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Hardly a heart but sped forth its groping 
prayer, uttered or unuttered, from fo’c’s’le or 
deck, on that gloomy August evening, while twi- 
light gathered over the sea like a Marconi mes- 
sage, into the Infinite! 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE FIRST SET 

J OHNNY was still lying in his bunk badly 
lamed — so had that big sea bruised him 
against the wheel-box — when, on the fol- 
lowing afternoon, the vessel made her first sound- 
ing off the northern edge of Georges bank. 

It was an exciting moment for two lads, won- 
derful as the noon experience when they stood 
beside the skipper on deck and watched him take 
the sun’s altitude with his sextant, and away there 
on mid-ocean, find his latitude, as if spelling from 
a book, while he harangued them on the beauty of 
the device. 

Now, after he told the helmsman to “ put the 
wheel down, and let her come up into the wind,” 
while her sails shook and slatted, the captain 
heaved the nine-pound sounding lead, shaped 
somewhat like a shoe, well forward. 

Each fisherman’s eye was intent on the line 
attached to lead, as it danced out of the tube 
wherein it was coiled, slipping more slowly over 
the rail, until, of a sudden, it shook violently, 
391 


392 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ceased paying out. Thump! the lead had struck 
bottom. 

Grabbing the line, holding it stationary on the 
rail, the skipper bade Rowley, standing near, to 
haul the lead back. 

In a second “ Roll-down ” was hauling in like 
lightning, passing the sounding line to Ned Say- 
wood, to measure. 

“Ninety fathom:” declared the latter; “rock 
bottom ! ” in turn passing the shoe-shaped lead 
to the skipper : in the heel was a hollow 
called the “ arming,” size of a pipe-bowl, filled 
with hard soap or tallow, which would not dis- 
solve, but pick up sand, gravel, shells, as it might 
be, from the ocean bed. Or if, as it happened 
now, to be sharp rock-bottom, the lead would 
come back with the rock’s likeness in that plastic 
arming. 

“ Ninety fathom — just off edge of the bank,” 
muttered the captain, sotto voce. “ Put your 
wheel up ; fill her away ! ” 

Presently he stepped aft, heaved in the copper 
log, attached to the vessel’s stern, green-coated 
with verdigris by the brine — looking like a brace 
of birds on a string, as the passenger declared — 
to see the record of the miles they had come. 

He was not satisfied yet and the Gage sailed on 
for another three or four hours — sailing over 


THE FIRST SET 


393 


Georges bank — now until, by-and-by, the cap- 
tain sounded again, this time with two baited 
hooks on a handline, sounding the prospect of 
fish, and brought up a haddock. 

“ I guess this is good enough for him ! We’ll 
be making a set somewheres round here to- 
night,” predicted Gardner. “ Slack tide at 
eleven o’clock: we start to set a couple of hours 
before slack — bait up while it’s light. No time 
to turn in and get a ‘ kink ; ’ not much sleep I tell 
ye, after once the fishing begins on Georges 
. . . hark ; there’s Rowley ‘ ripping her 

out! ’ ” as the lively sound of a banjo swept up 
the. fo’c’s’le companionway, and men grouped for- 
ward to listen. 

“ Makes the vessel seem like a great music 
box under one’s feet, doesn’t it?” exclaimed the 
passenger, shuffling those feet ecstatically, as 
sweet notes of the “ Suwanee River ” floated up 
through the open hatchway — a hymn to the dy- 
ing sun, setting behind long, gold-combed swells 
on Georges. 

“ Gives a fellow some new sensations, eh ? ” 
gurgled Oakley. “ D’ye remember that night I 
first saw you, Gagie, when you yelled back from 
the car, just as it started on over the trestle: 

‘ See you on Georges ! ’ Never thought ’twould 
come true, did we ? ” 


394 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Never ! Never ! But what’s the skipper 
about doing now ? ” The passenger was waltz- 
ing aft again, to sound Captain Ceeph’s move- 
ments as the latter with arm slanting across a 
corner of the white house, eye on the compass 
within the cabin skylight, was drawing an imag- 
inary, oblique line from that house to the deck 
of a vessel, some miles distant, outlined against 
the crimson horizon. 

“ He’s taking the bearings of that old ‘ two- 
hooker,’ lying to an anchor there, farther in on 
the bank,” explained Reuben Marr. “ He knows 
she must have found a good spot to fish on. 
Regular old-fashioned Georgesman, she is — not 
clipper-rigged an’ built after the new * toothpick ’ 
model, like the Gage!” running his eye along 
the white rail of the slender, graceful vessel un- 
der his feet. 

“ That old handliner, she’s more bunchy : has 
main and fore masts different lengths an’ not 
much rake to them ! ” Reuben squinted aloft at 
the Gage's tawny mastheads, matched in height. 
“ The new model has more style to it — more 
accommodations, too, fore an’ aft ! ” leveling these 
remarks at Oakley, listening with the thirsty eye 
of the would-be designer. 

“ Oh! the Richard A. Gage is a bird! ” crowed 
the passenger, even as he had said it at the 


THE FIRST SET 


395 


moment of launching. Yet, later, when he curled 
down upon the taffrail, to get a kink, forty winks, 
ere going in the dory with Barty, to make his first 
set on Georges, one vision floated before him, 
skirting the sea of sleep — the vision of that old 
two-hooker, glorified against a flaming sky ! 

“ She’s bearing sou’west about five miles,” the 
captain was saying, meanwhile. “ Get up bait, 
boys : bait up ! ” 

The herring, kept on ice below, was brought 
on deck, Eddie Cass chirping as before : “ Bring 
on the scadding-pot ! ” 

Drab tubs of trawl, containing five hundred 
fathoms of line, bearing, attached to the little 
red “ gangions,” some five hundred and fifty 
hooks, were drawn up on or beside the house, 
fishermen ranging themselves on either side, 
eight to port, eight to starboard — each with his 
tub beside him. The hard work of baiting up 
began. 

Three minutes in the rigging, in a tide rip, 
had not made Oakley wish himself back 
sawing treenails in the shipyard. But sixty min- 
utes of baiting trawl, with many a grunt and 
“ Ouch ! ” as a hook went into a finger as well 
as through the silvery morsel of herring, most 
effectually did ! 

The hour would have been doubled but for 


396 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Gardner, his dorymate — next to Palmy, the best 
man at baiting up aboard — who could turn off 
a tub of trawl in forty minutes, and who now 
took hold to help his struggling mate. 

“ Suppose you’re going to set to-night or to- 
morrow morning, ‘ Pin ? ’ ” inquired Murray Sel- 
lar sarcastically, glancing backward at the novice’s 
fumbling fingers, as he danced off with his own 
baited tub to place it in the dory. “ Want some 
help — eh ? ” officiously coming round to the oth- 
er’s side of the house. 

“ Scat ! ” laughed The Pin, while his lean fin- 
gers sent the hook through the bait with incred- 
ible swiftness. “ ‘ Run along an’ sell your pa- 
pers,’ Mudgie! There must be a first time for 
every man : the greeny is beginning to tumble to 
himself, now.” 

“ Beginning to ‘ tumble ’ to the hooks ! ” sug- 
gested Oakley, plucking up heart for a chuckle, 
as he saw the end in sight. 

Now ensued a brief interval for mugging-up on 
coffee and pie, ere two tubs of trawl, with eleven 
hundred baited hooks, were placed in each small 
boat, together with oars, parting boards, and 
finally the flaming dory-torch in the bow, a large 
wick, set in round gallon tin of kerosene. 

At the skipper’s order: “ Top dories!” over 
they went, one by one, lowered by dory-tackle 


THE FIRST SET 


397 


in main and fore rigging, four to port, four to 
starboard, rowing off to leeward, into the gloom 
of the August night, until each flaring torch was 
a yellow topaz on the sea’s breast. 

With one man wielding the oars, and the other 
heaving over trawl-buoy and anchor, then throw- 
ing out trawl-line, the little boats crept away 

— vessel dropping one, then moving on in a 
straight line, to lower another, as if casting her 
bread upon the waters — the passenger going 
with Barty, whom the cook had assisted in bait- 
ing up. 

After three-quarters of an hour of chucking out 
trawl, when some thousand fathoms had gone 
over, there was a drowsy interval of rocking on 
the night sea — the dory horn, in the boat with 
Gardner and his green dorymate, having cawed 
to let the vessel know that a set had been made. 
Suddenly, The Pin broke silence : 

“ Ever run across that fellow, ‘ Mudgie,’ 
ashore, Oakie?” 

“ Not that I know of ! ” Oakley was half 
asleep. 

“ He seems to be bent on rubbing it into you 

— on taking the wind out of your sails on every 
tack ! ” Gardner laughed. 

“ Oh ! let him ; doesn’t bother me much.” 

It bothered him less, presently, when at a signal 


398 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


from the vessel's horn, work of hauling trawl be- 
gan; Oakley taking the fish from the hooks, 
mostly haddock, with a few cod and lively cusk, 
Gardner, as best man, disposing of them in the 
dory-bottom, coiling the line down again into the 
tubs. 

Suddenly, the greenhorn blew off an excited 
squeal : 

“ Great Caesar ! We've got the bottom 
hooked, this time! We’ve got a whale! ” laugh- 
ing wildly. “ A fish that is a fish — a holy 
terror — jerking and snubbing, on the line, like 
bad!" 

“ Barn-door skate ! " most likely. “ Take it 
cool, greeny ! " gurgled The Pin. 

He did not “ take it cool," though, when no 
useless skate, but a monster halibut clave dusky 
ripples of the night sea, shimmering like a huge 
silver platter in the torchlight, with the iridescent 
slime on his great flat surface — taking the united 
strength of both men to gaff and land him. 

“ Golly ! he comes near being a two-hundred- 
pounder, I guess ! " Gardner, in turn, was squeal- 
ing with excitement. 

So did Frenchy, when their dory came along- 
side the vessel — which, by-and-by, jogging 
round, picked up one boat after another, even as 
she had dropped them! 


THE FIRST SET 


399 


“ Greates’ beeg feesh as nobody nevare see ! ” 
laughed the amiable Frenchman, who with his 
dorymate had already got their catch aboard, as 
he grasped the painter of Gardner’s dory, while 
the cook gaffed her in astern, and the skipper 
gaffed the halibut over the rail, with “ That’s a 
big prize, boys ! ” 

Then, lurch, slide, roll and pitch : Oakley had to 
master the difficult feat of standing upright in the 
dory-bow, tossing his fish, five or six together, 
from the prongs of a longhandled fork, over the 
rail into temporary pens, formed by kite boards, 
placed across the vessel’s deck; Gardner, balanc- 
ing himself in the stern, forking, too ! 

And, then, when the amalgamated catch, 
product of each dory’s set, was aboard — amount- 
ing, according to a rough guess from height of 
fish in the pens, to some fifteen thousand pounds 
— came the dressing-down, when a purblind 
greenhorn found himself, with dorymate and two 
others, standing to the house, opening fish after 
fish, while a second quartette took the entrails 
out. 

Yet another big four, sportively nicknamed 
“ Idlers,” pitched them into the hold, where a 
quartette below stacked them in tiers, alternating 
with ice layers. 

“ Gee whiz ! whanging in tre’nails in the 


400 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


shipyard is kid’s play to haddocking on 
Georges,” gasped the lad at last, feeling as if all 
around him was “ blinding thick,” as he stumbled 
below, when the first flush of dawn strewed rose- 
petals over the August sea, flung himself, all 
oiled-up as he was, across his bunkmate’s feet. 

The passenger did not come in on the dressing- 
down, though, he had balanced himself after a 
fashion in the dory — with “ many a cropper ” — 
and manfully pitched his fish aboard, with Barty. 

It seemed to young Rose that he had been just 
one minute slitting fish in dreamland when the 
cook’s head was thrust down the cabin compan- 
ionway, yelling like the last trump : 

“ Second table gang — breakfast 1 Break- 
fast! ” 

“Wake up, there!” sputtered the greenhorn. 
“ Take the kinks out of your backbone,” trying 
hard to straighten his own ; “ two sleeps are bet- 
ter than one: you can turn in again, we’ll have 
to bait up for another set ! ” 

The fragrant smell of coflee, with liver and 
bacon, stimulated reeling footsteps to some sem- 
blance of alertness, as two lads stumbled on deck 
and rolled for’ard, drunk with sleepless fatigue. 

But the second table gang was j ubilant ! 

“ Fifteen thousand pounds — mostly haddock, 
a scattering o’ cod and a few hake ! ” gasped 


THE FIRST SET 


401 


Barty. “ Pretty good for a first night’s set. 
We’re running on our luck, boys. Here’s hoping 
’twill hold out ! ” as he drained his mug of coffee. 
But it didn’t. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A DORY ASTRAY 


UCK did not hold ! Results from the day- 



set only aggregated some six thousand 


— * pounds. The skipper forthwith “ got the 
jumbo on her,” sailed about ten miles to another 
berth, while one and another, playing off disap- 
pointment, kept enlightening the passenger as to 
how that “jumbo jib” came by its big-elephant 
nickname. 

“ There used to be only three lower sails on a 
fishing vessel : ” said Jimmy Sweetman : “ mains’l, 
fores’l, an’ jib. Fores’l was a big one, un- 
wieldy for men to handle, after tackling the 
mains’l, so some one got the idea of dividing it, 
calling the for’ard part 4 fore-stays’l ’ ! D’ye see ? 
Well! ’twas just about then that Barnum’s circus 
was performing in Gloucester, an’ a fisherman 
who had been to watch the leading elephant do 
stunts was all carried away when he looked at 
the new sail — thought of the sparing of work 
’twould be for all hands ! ‘ That’s a big thing / 

says he, meaning the labor-saving idea : ‘ that’s a 


402 


A DORY ASTRAY 


403 


regular Jumbo!' An’ that fore-stays’l will be 
* jumbo ’ to all time ! ” 

The passenger was the only exultant one 
aboard, to-day ; during the noonday set, when he 
again went in the dory with Barty, he had hauled 
up a curious specimen for his conglomerate mu- 
seum, a perfect little tree apparently growing 
from the heart of a small rock, bristling with 
minute shell-life. The tooth of a fishing frog 
paled in its shadow ! 

By late afternoon, however, when the vessel 
had located a new ground which her skipper 
deemed promising, spirits in general revived. 
And the cook was greeted with hilarious roar by 
the second table, when, at supper, he came on 
with a huge dish of apple turnovers. 

“ Holy smoke ! he’s going to discover which 
of us is the Jonah,” laughed The Pin. “ He’s 
got a clay pipe-stem smuggled into one o’ them 
turnovers,” eyeing askance the pastry. The 
steward, in joke, had revived an old method of 
trial by ordeal aboard a fishing vessel, by way of 
unearthing the hoodoo, who had caused the slump 
in luck. 

“ Tear an’ ages, if I was to be made over into 
fifty Jonahs, I’d sail into ’em just the same!” 
grinned Barty. “ Och ! cookie, as I told you be- 
fore, you’re the boy that knows how to handle 


404 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the dumpling dust,” poising a turnover aloft, eye- 
ing it critically. “ As for them raw lads — 
Oakie, there, and the passenger — they’ll swallow 
that pipe-stem whole, an’ have a new tube for the 
red lane, be the way they’re gettin’ away with the 
paste ! ” 

His own strong teeth bit on white pipe-clay, 
even as he spoke. A roar went up from the 
three-cornered table: 

“ Aw ! Bart, we’ll allow you’re It : we’ll al- 
low you’re the Jonah! If ’twas sixty years ago 
we might have chucked you adrift, in a dory, with 
your dunnage ! ” 

“ Faix, if you do, the passenger goes, too; 
he’s in with me ! ” laughed the Irishman, who 
had some faith, real or counterfeit, in lucky 
stones, much in turning with the sun, but took no 
stock in Jonahs. “ Him an’ me’s dorymates — 
eh, old son ? ” 

“ Sure, I’m in with you ! ” returned Gage, sail- 
ing into his third turnover, unafraid. 

But despite the successful trial by ordeal, luck 
changed that night, when the sea in the neighbor- 
hood of a jogging vessel, again took on its topaz 
necklet, starred by the yellow-bright dory-torches. 
The amalgamated catch amounted to fourteen 
thousand pounds, or thereabouts. Luck held 
during the next two day-sets and night-set, also. 


A DORY ASTRAY 


405 


with only two hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four, 
for weary men. 

“ We’ve wet nearly all our ice, now,” re- 
marked young Dacre, one of the quartette who 
packed fish in the hold. “ To-morrow the old 
man will be driving her for market.” 

“ Cracking sail on to her, too ! ” laughed Roll- 
down, “ music-ripping ” Rowley. “ I know his 
tricks and his dodges; he’s a hard man to carry 
sail.” 

“ Yes, if the weather holds ? ” muttered the 
Irishman anxiously. “ Don’t know as you’d bet- 
ter come in the dory, to-day, Chick. We’re nigh 
a change : I feel it in me bones.” 

But the passenger pleaded and argued: ’twas 
the last chance that he’d ever have in all proba- 
bility of making a set on Georges, so he urged ; 
the cook had gone out with Barty twice now, and 
Johnny was able to hobble on deck and bait up 
— though, still too lame to fish. And, in the 
event, Greengage got his way. 

“ I guess, we’re well rid of ye — for a brace of 
Jonahs ! ” laughed Oakley, as their dory went 
over the side, the passenger taking the oars, hold- 
ing his sou’wester between his knees, the breeze 
forking his hair over till it looked like a last- 
year’s hay-mow ! ” as his chum was fond of as- 
suring him. 


406 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


How often during the next twenty hours he 
was to see a vision of that hay-mow head which 
laid him over cold, that chum had little idea! 

There were no striking indications of a change 
of weather. But the day was of a muggy heat. 

“ Wind’s hauling to the south’ard,” said Gard- 
ner, as Oak and he were in their second tub of 
trawl-line, throwing the hooked and baited fath- 
oms over. “ Guess we’ll have to start to haul, al- 
most as soon as we have her chucked out. 
Tide’ll be against us, too, getting back to the ves- 
sel : we’ll have a sweet time bucking to win’ard.” 

“ Seems to be shutting in thick, too — fogging 
up ! ” remarked Oakley, with a little chill at his 
spine, as he recognized the shadowy spectator 
which had come so stealthily upon the scene, on 
the night when they had narrowly escaped being 
sunk like a cod-lead, off Cashes Shoal. 

“ ‘ Shutting in ’ ! Gorry, I should think so. 
’Twill be so thick presently that you could drive a 
nail in, an’ hang your hat on it,” muttered The 
Pin, glaring at the curdling atmosphere, with a 
ragged edge to his joke. 

To burlesque the fog, even aboard the vessel, 
was one thing; to poke fun at it here, in a 
small sixteen-foot dory, when one was bound by 
fisherman’s honor to stand by and haul his trawl, 
until it became an actual matter of life or death 


A DORY ASTRAY 


407 


— that was a horse of entirely different color! 

In silence, the third tub of trawl-line was emp- 
tied, there were three to a day-set, with the 
Georges bank fog ever creeping nearer; swath- 
ing them more closely, like fold within fold of 
grey, gauzy veil. Five minutes after the last 
anchor and trawl buoy had been thrown over, 
Gardner, his weather eye peeled, albeit, it could 
not see very far, heaved them aboard again and 
began to haul — the dory drawing herself along 
by the trawl-line, anchored at the farther end, as 
foot after foot was hauled in — like a black 
puppy, at the end of a string. 

Of a sudden, the puppy stopped with a wild 
tug, as if he positively refused to go further, then, 
began a mad recessional amid the blurred 
waters. 

“ We’re hung up!” muttered Gardner briefly. 
“ Parted, too, I guess ! Won’t be able to reach 
our outer buoy,” stretching out after a fag-end 
of trawl-line, squirming like a drab snake, against 
a water-hill. “ We’ll have to buoy this end an’ 
get back to the vessel. Guess, she’s to win’ard 
of us ! Hear her toot? ” 

For the last half-hour, or so, since ever it shut 
down, thick, that fog-horn on the vessel’s deck 
had been sounding at intervals. 

“ Yes, I hear her,” returned Oakley, catching 


408 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


a faint blast — catching at it, as if it were a 
hand gropingly stretched out through the blind- 
ing murk ! 

But how to clasp the hand: that was the rub! 
Over and over again, the fledgling fisherman, 
weakened by novel and incessant toil of the past 
three days, felt himself on the point of keeling 
over — giving out — during that terrible row of 
a mile and half, searching for the vessel, with only 
her tooting to guide them, tide and fog-breeze, 
together, fighting them! 

“ Golly ! but the tide runs strong,” grated The 
Pin. “ Always does on Georges. N’othe-east 
tide the strongest ! It — it’s ripping work, buck- 
ing up to win’ard ! ” 

Ripping it was: the novice felt as if his heart 
were being ripped out of him — pretty roughly, 
too. 

“ I guess you’re thinking that the pump is in 
its last barrel ! ” got out Gardner, after another 
straining interval, badly blown, himself. “ Bet- 
ter anchor here ; let her come an’ get us ! ” 

He threw over the little dory anchor, as he 
spoke ; and presently three other small boats came 
creeping up to anchor beside them — fishermen’s 
faces hanging out clammy and corpse-like against 
the bank fog, from strain of fighting it, and its al- 
lies, wind and savage tide, running cruelly strong. 


A DORY ASTRAY 


409 


The vessel presently bore down and picked 
them up, her horn going all the time, like a 
frightened mother chucking to her brood. 

For Oak the “ pump seemed really in its last 
barrel : ” as he tried to stand up in the dory -bow 
and fork his fish aboard, he pitched helplessly 
forward across a thwart ! 

Frenchy manoeuvred it for him. 

But when he gained the clammy deck, that 
pump, his heart seemed in its last drop, for he 
heard the skipper anxiously questioning men 
about a dory, which with its dorymates had not 
crept forth from any bleary pocket of the fog, 
tunneling its way ! 

“We saw them quite a while ago, trying to 
get back aboard the vessel/’ said Murray Sellar. 
“ They were getting it in the neck, like the rest of 
us ! ” 

No one had seen them since. What were they 
getting now ? The greenhorn felt as if he should 
pitch forward on the dank deck, even as he had 
tumbled exhausted in the dory. From each grey 
pocket of that fog there looked out at him a hay- 
mow head, a face which had always come in on 
the laugh during the past year of his struggle, 
and made it bearable — enjoyable, even! 

What were they getting now ; breezing-up 
wind, rough tumble of sea, ferocious tide, all 


410 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


against them — and not able to see a vessel’s 
length ahead : what were they getting ? 

The dory which had not crept back contained 
that brace of Jonahs, according to the pipe-stem 
ordeal : Barty and the passenger ! 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 

J UST at first, as the novice saw, his fears 
were not shared by the rest of the crowd, at 
least, to the same extent, or if so, they put 
a laughing face on anxiety, as they did on the 
fog. 

So be sure, during the dressing-down of fish 
which ensued, every man’s eye, kept slanting 
now and again along his opening knife or his 
“ Idler’s ” pitching fork, out beyond a vessel’s 
deck, into the grey mull, as if the sharp steel of his 
glance must slit its veil, disclose a dory-shape 
behind it. 

Each ear was intently cocked for sound of 
oars or shout. It almost drove Oakley mad when 
Bluebeard, with a half-dozen silvery haddock 
bunched upon his fork, suspended pitching to 
gasp, training his ear to leeward. 

“ My soul ! ain’t that the passenger a-holler- 
ing? Sounds just like the b’y ! ” 

Knives were poised dagger-like in air, other 
411 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


112 

idlers’ forks suspended 1 Breath held up ! But 
no one else could detect a cry beyond the ragged 
screaming of flocks on flocks of sea birds, big and 
little, circling round the vessel at dressing-down 
time — some falling inboard upon the deck in 
their wild scramble after heads and entrails of the 
fish. 

“ Guess it’s only the crowing of those Careys, 
you hear, boy,” mumbled Eddie Cass, his round 
face lengthening. “ You could hear ’em from 
here to Gloucester, crowing like young roosters! 
wonder the folks at home don’t wake up an’ 
think it’s morning?” cracking on a feeble joke 
to tide the deck over a shoal of disappointment. 

“ I wish to goodness, they’d let up for two 
minutes ! ” flung off Oakley, ready to wring the 
necks of all Mother Carey’s storm-brood. Be- 
tween them, and the yelping of the vessel’s horn 
under the mainboom on the house — just short, 
sharp barks, lest a long blast should cut off any 
approaching shout — the lad felt his nerves saw- 
ing and creaking like the fog-tightened rigging, 
overhead. 

The skipper was plainly right anxious, too, as 
a sharpened edge to his orders showed ! At pres- 
ent, he was keeping the vessel jogging round near 
where she had dropped over the dories, thinking 
that, so, the stray would have a better chance of 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


413 


finding its way back to the floating fold. By- 
and-by, he ran off a couple of miles to leeward, 
one man keeping a sharp lookout in the bow, 
while others finished dressing-down, and ever the 
shrieking birds grew wilder over their banquet, 
as a breezing-up wind tried to snatch it from 
them ! 

“ It’s hauling to the east’ard — the wind — if 
signs go for anything, there’ll be breeze enough 
before morning to blow the hair off your head,” 
muttered Jimmy Sweetman. “ The skipper’s 
feeling bad about that dory; I guess, he’s kick- 
ing himself, now, for letting the passenger go in 
her at all ! He’s been below, half-a-dozen times, 
looking at the barometer an’ ‘ going on the 
chart!”’ 

“ Taking the bearings of North Shoal, I 
guess ! ” commented Reuben Marr, half under his 
breath. “ I’ve been to Georges with him when 
he never looked at a chart from the time we left 
port till we got in again.” 

“ * The wind she blew a hurricane 
Bime-by, she blow, some more ! ’ ” 

chuckled Bluebeard, pitching fish with a ven- 
geance into the hold. But the expression of his 
face made the sorry attempt at laughter seem too 
thin ; he had taken quite “ a shine ” to the pas- 


414 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


senger, had fished with Barty, on Quero and 
Grand Banks — with one trip, fresh halibuting, 
to the neighborhood of Johnny Campbell’s Spot 
— and his heart was pitchforked within him ! 

“ I’ll bet me you’ head she goin’ blow som’ ! ” 
This was Frenchy’s contribution, as he threw the 
fish livers, to be preserved, into the gurry-pen, 
and glanced at the wheeling birds. “ I see dem 
gull fly ver’ high up, todder days ! ” 

“ Why don’t you bet your own head ? ” 
screeched Rowley, pitting his voice against a ris- 
ing shriek of the “ hauling ” wind, but, right 
there, the screaming farce dropped; no one tried 
to joke any more. 

“ Not much use in running to leeward any 
more,” muttered the skipper presently; “she 
couldn’t have come further in this direction, “ al- 
luding to the straying dory. “ We’ll haul her up 
on the wind — ” this related to the vessel — 
“make a short board to West’ard an’ tack ship; 
maybe, we’ll run afoul of them that way ! ” 

But, though the vessel tried one tack and an- 
other, the horn barking accordingly — one yelp 
for the starboard tack, two for port, as it had 
done on the night of that steamer scare, though, 
the snorting easterly, that threatened to be a 
howling gale by midnight, was tearing a ragged 
clearing in the fog, piling it in withered-looking 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


415 


wisps to leeward, there was no sign of the dory 
which that fog had kidnapped. 

“Good life alive! it’s blowing a snorter, al- 
ready ! ” bellowed Reuben Marr, as if roaring 
against an express train. “ Hark to them 
strings, overhead — beginning to train on ! And 
the clouds lying low as a blown-off hatchway ! ” 

Smothering low, they seemed, to a dead-anx- 
ious boy, those dark, roofing storm-clouds, piling 
lower — thicker — every minute, till he felt as if 
he could put up his hand and touch them — felt 
as if they stifled the breath in him, like mats of 
feathers ! 

And under that dark, low-lying canopy, the 
gnash of the storm — now blowing a screecher 
— shrieking of seabirds, their banquet over, try- 
ing to scale up against the wind, as if seeking 
refuge, only to be borne down by its force, spun 
off to leeward, away — away — while the lad felt 
himself wishing that the northeast snorter would 
catch him up, too — whirl him off : then per- 
haps, he could find that missing dory and his 
bunkmate ! 

But wilder even than gulls’ screaming, the jum- 
ble of noises on and about the vessel! Swish 
of a maddened sea against her side, creaking of 
spars like some monster June catbird, with a 
hawse-pipe throat, while it seemed as if the shiv- 


416 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


ering topmasts must presently pierce that cloud- 
mat, overhead! Slatting of sails, chattering of 
scared reef-points, hissing, creaking, whistling of 
hundreds of strings in the rigging — “ howling 
taut,” booming, shrieking in every key ! 

“ ‘ Training on!’ I should think they are 
everlastingly training on! ” muttered Oakley, 
glancing aloft, with difficulty keeping on his new- 
found sea-legs, hearing his bunkmate’s cry whis- 
tling along every string — seeing nothing but that 
haymow head against stifling cloud-mat. 

Luckily for him, he had not time to listen and 
think, but found himself jumping at the skipper’s 
order : 

“ Haul down that jib an’ jumbo. Take a holt, 
there, you fellows for’ard: don’t stand gaping 
out, like stuffed pigs ! ” 

When a battle was on Captain Ceeph did not 
give his orders in any “ bushwhacking way,” as 
Barty said; and every string in him was taut as 
could be with anxiety over that missing dory. 

Already the mainsail had been snugly furled; 
the riding-sail “ bent on to her ! ” The captain’s 
bellow was heard again : 

“Well, boys, I guess we’ll club her — give 
her the anchor! Put your wheel down; let her 
come up in the wind ! ” to the helmsman. 

And Oak was presently working with purblind 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


417 


eyes, twisting the strad, soft hempen fiber, 
round the cable, to prevent its chafing in the 
hawse-pipe or against bobstay plates, while a few 
of the crowd took in the foresail and double- 
reefed it. As the anchor was heaved over and 
eighty fathoms paid out to it — to hold the vessel, 
or try to, against any possibility of drifting onto 
that dangerous North Shoal, whose bearings 
Captain Ceeph had been anxiously taking on the 
chart — the haggard-faced lad felt his arm 
gripped. 

“ Cut supper to-night — did ye?” yelled Jim- 
my Sweetman close to his ear. “ Well ! you drop 
below an’ mug-up. Come — no back-talk on this 
vessel ! ’Twill be your watch by-’n’-by : who 
d’you suppose is going to stand it for you, eh ? ” 

“ Thought that last would fetch him ! ” com- 
mented Jim, as the red-eyed lad glared for a min- 
ute, then tumbled below. “ He won’t want an- 
other to take over his watch. Great sailor! it’s 
breezing up an’ breezing up. It’s not often we 
get an August blow, like this, but when we do, 
it lays over most ! ” thundered Jimmy, who had 
been headed off from describing such a blow, only 
two nights ago. “Life alive! man,” he barked 
excitedly close to The Pin’s ear, “ she’s dragging 
back on her cable, already, like a bull-pup on a 
wet mitten.” 


418 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


True enough! Fifty fathoms more of cable 
was paid out, to hold her. 

“ Plenty of water, ain’t there ? ” grated Gard- 
ner, in return, at Jimmy’s ear, as the ragged tops 
of seas blew over the vessel’s deck, groping in her 
rigging like ghostly fingers. And, through gath- 
ering twilight, the spume sailed above her, clear 
as rain, all sizes, from small bunched drops, to 
lumps the size of a crystal egg. 

The terrible wildness of it all — under that 
blackening thatch of cloud almost blew Oakley 
backward down the companionway as he stum- 
bled on deck again presently — as once before, 
literally coughed out by the “ giddy footing of 
the hatches ! ” 

“ Feeling better, eh?” roared Jimmy at him. 
“ That’s the lad! Ten to one, our dory has been 
picked up by another vessel — perhaps, by that 
old two-hooker, and, if not there isn’t a chance 
for her, now,” groaned Jim, under his breath. 
“(She couldn’t live five minutes, in a sea like 
this!) You anchor to the thought that they’re 
picked up, and get a night in; I’ll stand your 
watch ! ” he added, yelling again through the 
thicket of noises. 

“ Skipper might not like it — ” began Oak hesi- 
tatingly, glancing at the captain. Then, as he 
saw Murray Sellar standing near : “ Thank you, 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


419 


Jimmy; you’re the stuff! But I guess, I’ll stand 
my own watch,” not minded to give Mudgie any 
scope for his sneer. “ I’ll get time for a kink, 
anyhow: we don’t come on till near morning, 
anyhow — The Pin an’ I — dorymates’ watch, 
then!” 

But though the lad did his best to anchor to 
the hope that the dory was safe, minus his bunk- 
mate, the “ kink ” forsook him, too, if indeed 
he could have slept, as some did, with the wild 
blare of the storm crowding sleep into a corner — 
feeling the frantic pitching and rolling of the ves- 
sel, as she tugged at her cable. 

Oakley understood well enough the danger 
should that cable part, should the anchor fail 
to hold her: danger of drifting before the gale 
onto one of the terrible shallows of Georges, 
where the shoal water, like that tide rip, was such 
a seething, bunching boil that no vessel could live 
in it, where sails would be torn off her, cobbling 
seas, with their sand churned up from the bot- 
tom pile over her — that would be the end ! 

Not many leagues from here, after just such a 
fashion, had his father been lost — that indomi- 
table father who “ took such a lot of beating ! ” 
The lad thought of him, to-night, in the inter- 
vals of thinking about his bunkmate. But he 
would not have been that father’s true son had 


420 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


he felt wholly scared, had the fight not appealed 
to him: the splendid fight which a Big Three, 
skipper, anchor, and cable — which his own hands 
had helped to strad — were putting up against 
screeching gale and wild water. 

He was glad when along toward dawn it be- 
came his turn to stand watch, Gardner, his dory- 
mate, with him, both on look-out for any sudden 
stress that might arise, to necessitate the calling 
of all hands, for the storm had not abated a jot. 
All night long the north-easter had kept hard at 
it, breezing up — and breezing up ! 

“ Better stand aft, there, between the wheel 
and house — under the mainboom ! ” roared 
Gardner as he came on deck, getting the lobe of 
the greenhorn’s ear between two long fingers, 
bellowing into the drum. “ If a sea slaps over 
the quarter, washes your feet out from under you, 
grab the boom tackle, overhead — hang on for 
your life — see ? Hully gee ! this lays over all 
for a blow. She’s just dragging back on her 
cable, like a mad bull ! ” glancing at the figure of 
a third man, up forward, deluged, every now and 
again, as the vessel took a dive forward — the 
skipper — calculating the distance, should that 
strained cable part, between them and the nearest 
shoal. 

To the greenhorn, the scene did “ lay over all ” 



Tiie sea, like a lion, was grappling him by the waist 

Page 4-21. 







THE GALE ON GEORGES 


421 


— beat the wildest nightmare! Stifling mat of 
cloud above him pierced by a belated moon- 
ray ! The shuddering vessel, straining to be free, 
as if scared out of all presence of mind, she would 
run for shelter, herself. Slatting of the riding 
sail ! Riding-light in forepeak halyards, all 
streaked and dripping as with rain, like a little 
lighthouse above the wet deck, throwing a scaling 
beam on a wild-looking hill of water that broke 
’longside. 

Catbird creaking of spars, training on of those 
hundreds of strings in the rigging — weirder 
than before. Roaring, popping! 

“ My soul ! it’s an everlasting — overwhelming 

— howling and lashing ! ” mumbled the boy, awed 
more than terrified by the animal-like ferocity 
of elements. And the next moment, with a re- 
port as a signal cannon, the whole menagerie 
sprang on him, together ! 

The sea, like a lion, was grappling him by the 
waist, washing his legs out from under him, mak- 
ing caves of his armpits, as the diving vessel took 
a header, dipping her bowsprit, and the unbridled 
ocean, as it seemed, poured over her, from stem 
to stern. 

“ Mer — mercy ! we’re all going now ! ” 
thought the boy, wildly grabbing with both hands 
the boom-tackle overhead, as The Pin had told 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


422 

him — hanging suspended out — nothing be- 
tween death and him but the grip of eight claw- 
ing fingers, sawed by the wet ropes. 

“ We’re all going now! It — it’s tearing me 
to pieces ! Wonder where Gage is ! ” 

Like the clang of a bell-buoy amid surf, the 
thoughts seemed to ring in his drowning ears, 
while that awful sea stormed along the vessel’s 
deck, as if it owned her, tearing her from her 
anchorage, parting sturdy cable — chucking the 
worrying “ bull-pup,” like a helpless chip adrift ! 

“I — I’m washing to pieces ! ” Straining — 
swooning — amid the foamy avalanche of waters, 
with arms almost wrenched from their sockets, 
feet suspended out toward covered rail, over 
which the flood was trying to sweep him: this 
for one terrific half-minute! Then, a sobbing 
sense that the deluge was receding, pouring in 
hissing cataract from that rail, at which his eyes 
glared deliriously, under the washy blink of 
moonlight melting into dawn ! 

And in that wan mating of lights, the slide of 
the cabin companionway pushed back, next in- 
stant, scared men, Saywood, Bluebeard, others 
who bunked aft, rushing on deck — Bluebeard’s 
dog barking at his heels, tongue out, panting as 
with summer heat ! 

“ I thought sure she was hove-down — thought 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


423 


you had gone overboard, b’y ! ” gasped the 
Newfoundlander, gripping a young look-out’s 
arm, to make sure that the deluge had retreated 
without him. 

“ I — I guess it did take — part o’ me! ” hys- 
terically ejaculated that boyish scout, feeling as 
if the sea, like a man-eating shark, had bitten 
him in two, under the armpits. 

“ We thought she was thrown down — hove 
down — lying over, till her spars dipped ! ” cried 
a fo’c’s’le gang, simultaneously, rushing on deck 
in a panic, almost as wet as those who had stood 
the brunt of the deluge, for the fo’c’s’le compan- 
ion slide had not been drawn over tight, and an 
edge of the flood had poured down the compan- 
ionway, almost drowning Frenchy in his bunk. 
“ Heavens ! the puff has taken the riding-sail, clip 
an’ clear.” 

“ She behaved too well for that ! ” Gardner 
was spitting out brine and applause for the vessel 
at the same time; he had been standing on the 
jaws of the fore-gaff when the sea came — above 
worst of the flood — how the captain, third man 
on deck, had escaped being swept overboard, no- 
body knew. “ She managed to stand up under it 
like the slick bit o’ wood she is ! ” clucked The 
Pin, rivers running off his yellow oil-clothes, 
gleaming like amber silk under that little light- 


424 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


house in the rigging — off Oakley’s, too. But, 
my soul an’ body ! what an everlasting cataract o’ 
water. That sea was a wicked one. Looked 
like the side of a house, when it shoved its white 
comb ’longside ! ” 

" Ciel! quel roulement d’eau” Frenchy was 
ejaculating, meanwhile, yelling at wet spars and 
rigging, dripping under the riding-light like bank 
ghosts returned from their watery bed. “ I’ll get 
my bunk of it so full, I almost sweem ! ” 

There was no further time for comment. Sea 
had beaten two out of the Big Three fighting 
for the vessel’s safety — had parted the great 
hempen cable, like twine, left a helpless anchor 
sticking to the sea-bed : had taken the riding-sail 
with that cannon-like report, leaving not a speck 
of canvas clinging to the main-boom. It had yet 
one force to reckon with, the skipper. 

Out of the darkness barked his orders, fairly 
splashing in the amount of sea-water he had swal- 
lowed : 

“ Put the axe on that end of cable, boys ! Get 
the double-reefed fores’l on her : we’ve got to 
drag out by North Shoal ! ” 

“ West nor’-west,” he bellowed to Gardner, 
who — it being his watch — now took the wheel ; 
“ that ought to clear the shoal ! ” 

But stormy dawn saw wind and sea still mon- 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


425 


archs on Georges ; still the north-easterly snorter 
hurling a vessel along, still the mad tumble of 
sea, on whose wild breast every now and again 
she laid her bowsprit, once in a while dipping it, 
like a drinking duck. More than once, had 
the skipper dropped below, to consult the chart, 
giving depth of water on every spot of the bank, 
but his jogging round in search of that stray dory 
had left him not quite certain of his own posi- 
tion. 

In little over an hour from the time the cable 
had parted, Jimmy Sweetman’s voice was heard, 
in shoaling excitement — Jimmy was now on 
look-out in the diving bow : “ Long heavy seas 

ahead, skipper; hadn’t we better heave the lead 
over an’ see what water we’ve got? ” 

“No use, boys!” Captain Ceeph’s voice was 
cool as at the moment, when, half-clad, he held 
the flare-up aloft at the end of a shirt-sleeved arm, 
though those long glassy rollers meant near 
neighborhood of the dangerous shoal. “ No use 
sounding ! ” he said. “ We can’t haul her up into 
the wind any more — she’ll only run before it. 
We’ve got to take what’s coming, boys — our 
chance whether she’ll go by, or not ! ” still yelling 
against the northeaster. 

“ We’ve got to go through some pretty shoal 
water, I guess ! ” he added, a minute later. 


426 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Best place for you fellows is below — and draw 
the companion slides well over ! ” the corner of 
his eye sweeping a bunch of buffeted faces. “ I 
know where my place is ! ” 

The skipper lurched aft, to take the wheel, 
himself. 

Not a man of the crowd followed his fatherly 
advice, however, though they grouped near the 
wildly creaking masts, ready for a hasty scramble 
into the rigging, should a big sea break over her. 

“ My sakes ! did you ever see such a way as 
she’s actin’ now? You’d think she was be- 
calmed ! ” shrieked Reuben, by-and-by, as the ves- 
sel went down into the hollow of a sea, where 
she seemed to stretch herself stock-still, like a 
frozen jack-rabbit, then was caught up by the 
next bunching roller, and traveled, like a race- 
horse on its back. 

Seas were shorter now, and choppy — a wild, 
irregular mob of waters — hunching, bunching 
themselves about her, as if all the “ riled-up ” 
rabble of the Georges prison-houses were let 
loose. 

“Ain’t it a mad scravel — b’y?” Bluebeard 
was standing near Oakley, his eye reflecting 
the wildness of that foamy scramble. “ I tell ye, 
the skipper’ll have hard work to hold on pres- 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


m 

“He’s just keeping her straight on — ’fraid 
she’ll broach to!” shrilled Eddie Cass. “If it 
should be ‘ day-day ’ to her — if the sea should 
roll her over like a pipe-stem — some of us might 
come up out o’ the scravel; he’d stand the hardest 
show — him an’ Jimmy, on look-out there, for’- 
ard!” 

“Great sailor! was ever such riled-up water? 
You — you can feel the sand o’ the bottom in 
it ! ” sputtered Reuben, as the impudent sea 
slapped a bucketful over the weather rail right in 
his face with such force as almost to knock him 
backward. 

It was coming in over her everywhere, at inter- 
vals, now, not at all particular where it flung 
its scaling ladder : over the diving bow, over the 
rails, leaving, as it receded, a deck powdered 
white with churned-up sand. The skipper’s voice 
was heard yelling from the wheel : 

“ You fellows had better find a berth in the 
rigging; if a sea comes, there’ll be some of you 
missing! ” 

Oakley felt that his uncle’s eye just grazed him. 
But the nearest he could get to running for 
safety was to climb up, hanging onto hoops of 
the straining mainmast — golden-wet now — 
which he had seen swallow its luck-money ! 

Terror even for his bunkmate was swept clean 


428 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


out of his mind by the fierce excitement of the 
“ scravel : ” wild scramble of the vessel to get over 
the shoal water — without being drawn toward 
its wild and breaking heart — under the cool hand 
guiding her. 

“ By gracious ! he’s a cracker jack — too,” half- 
sobbed the boy; hurling wild words through his 
teeth at the north-easter. u We — we’ve got a 
man among us! We’ve got a man among us, 
too! ” echoing Reuben on the subject of the great 
skipper who had taken his vessel through the 
breakers of that shoal bar, his eye spilling over 
with a drop of the light which had been in Reu- 
ben’s as it fastened on that oil-clad figure to the 
wheel, seas washing now and again to the arm- 
pits, iron-grey locks of hair torn out from under 
his sou’-wester, flattened against the grim, set 
jaws. 

“ Some terrible wild-looking water, off there, 
to leeward ! ” yelled the lad suddenly, turning 
from his cracker jack uncle* to the raving sea 
which he was fighting. “ I believe it’s b-breaking 
there ! See it cobble! ” as a great wave puckered 
itself up into a huge glassy bunch, to the very 
point of breaking; then fell back. 

“ I’m pretty sure that fellow broke chock up 
from the bottom ! ” Bluebeard pointed to a 
shaggy head of foam. “ But it seems to me, b’y, 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


429 


that we’re deepening the water some h-here ! ” he 
added, in combing excitement, trying to snatch 
off Oak’s sou’wester and wave it at the cobbling 
seas. We’re dragging out ! I — I thought it 
was * day-day ’ ! with us. But we’re dragging 
out — dragging out by! By jerry! the skipper 
can lay over most. Wasn’t he just as cool! ” 

“ He’s running her a little, to make sure we’re 
well clear o’ shoal water,” grated Gardner pres- 
ently. “ Wind’s moderating some, too, I guess ; 
we’re through the worst. In a couple of hours 
he’ll be driving her for home — with what fish 
we’ve got ! ” 

“ Not without looking some more for — for 
them — for the dory ? ” shrieked Oakley, as if the 
sinking north-easter had dropped its mantle of 
shrillness upon him — feeling all the exultation 
of escape drop, wilted, into a sobbing gulf — 
with some wild idea of falling on his knees to 
that cracker jack skipper. 

“ Where’s the use ? ” grated The Pin sadly. 
“ They — wouldn’t be atop now — unless they’ve 
been picked up by some vessel. Let’s hope they 
were! But I’m afraid it’s a slim opening,” this 
last under his breath. “ You’d better drop be- 
low, get into dry clothes an’ turn in — or one o’ 
the vessel’s crowd will be falling sick on our 
hands: your face is the color o’ stale foam, an’ 


430 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the whites o’ your eyes red as a spoiled her- 
ring’s ! ” 

That spoiled redness still disfigured the lad’s 
eyes as he tumbled on deck, some two hours later, 
having got rid of his sodden clothing, drenched 
by that big sea which had pressed in under his oil- 
clothes, as he swung suspended out, having swal- 
lowed a scalding mug of coffee, with a slab of 
bread, and fallen into a leaden stupor of ex- 
haustion for an hour or so. 

From this he was awakened by a searing vision 
gliding among borderland mists of sleep — vision 
which lengthened to a spectre, and seemed to 
strangle him in his big, half-empty bunk, with 
garroting fingers! Vision of the Richard A. 
Gage , getting into the Gloucester wharf with her 
flag — the ensign presented, with others, by 
Dickey, as her name-giver — at half-mast for 
Barty and the passenger ; for Greengage — his 
chum — lost in a dory, on Georges ! 

He hurriedly stumbled on deck with a wild cry 
on his lips — a sort of raving prayer ! There, 
the spectre left him : the vision melted into an- 
other, took on the shape of a vessel, a mile, or 
less, to leeward, against the clearing sky — no 
clipper-rigged flyer like the Gage, but bunchy old 
Georgesman, transfigured by a finger of sunlight 
which, poking through the dispersing cloud-mat. 


THE GALE ON GEORGES 


431 


now scudding on high, like a roof blown off, 
pointed to a gay something, newly alighted in 
the hand-liner’s rigging like a gorgeous bird ! 

A wild cry went up from the handsome sister 
deck. 

“ Good Lord ! it’s that old two-hooker.” The 
Pin clasped his thin hands, as if in prayer. 
“ She’s setting the Color in the rigging! She 
wants to speak us. Perhaps she’s got — our 
men!” 


CHAPTER XXXI 

THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 


blessed 'Color!’ Oh, glorious 
( I Ensign ! ” As its Stars and Stripes 
fluttered in the old Georgesman’s 
rigging, Oakley felt as if he could have knelt to 
them ! 

“ Wonder what that fellow w-wants? ” panted 
the skipper; there was an actual tremble in Cap- 
tain Ceeph’s gusty tones which peril of collision 
and shoal had failed to bring into them. He was 
afraid to voice the hope which had leaped to 
Gardner’s tongue, lest it prove a false one, as 
the Gage bore down on the older vessel, which 
she had been gradually overhauling for the past 
hour, or so, ever since Reuben, for’ard on look- 
out, had “ made her,” against the clearing hori- 
zon. 

“ She wouldn’t want to speak us, just to say 
‘ Howdy ! ’ Must be something particular ! ” 
gurgled Roll-down — the musical Rowley — his 
shoulders working like a piston rod. 

Simultaneously, he started violently. So did 
432 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 433 


Palmy, who could see almost as far with the 
naked eye as another man with marine glasses, 
while he leaned over the weather rail, training 
his telescopic sight on the “ fellow’s ” deck — to 
a fisherman everything is a fellow, from vessel to 
iceberg. 

“ By the great horn spoon ! ” cried the palmy 
Down-Easterner, actually shaking, “ that’s our 
dory on her deck. The two-hooker would only 
have one old hulk of a dory, astern ! ” This to 
Oakley, pitying the blown, stale-foam pallor of 
the latter’s face — that herring-like redness in his 
eyes. 

“ By grace ! that’s the passenger there under 
the weather main rigging,” effervesced Blue- 
beard at the same moment. “ That — that’s the 
b’y : I make him ! ” 

Somebody else was “ making ” Barty, at the 
same time singling out the Irishman’s height and 
breadth amid a crew of elderly men on the hand- 
liner’s deck, whence a stentorian voice now rang 
across acres of water: 

“Richard A. Gage ahoy! We’ve got two of 
your men ! ” 

And presently, a dory was pushing off, amid 
cheering and hand-waves, from the two-hooker’s 
side, Barty and Greengage rowing. 

The meeting between a pair of lads was oddly 


434 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


quiet — somewhat stiffened ! It was “ Hullo, 
Gage!” “Hullo, Oakie! Well! we got ours, 
didn’t we?” “That ‘ blow ’ was the limit!” 
And so forth! 

But the spoilt redness was in Gage’s eyes, too ; 
both boys’ lids quivered so that they could hardly 
hold in the pickle. 

For the passenger, perhaps, the next seventeen 
hours of a home run was the cream of the trip : he 
was lionized and “ old sonned ” by every mem- 
ber of the crowd from skipper to cook. Frenchy 
almost wept over him, getting off a streak of re- 
joicings in his Canadian patois, tailed with: 
“ Ah, misericorde ! w’en dat doree, she no get 
back to vess’ dat — dat’s de tarn I’ll feel de break- 
heart — here ! ” pressing a palm on either side his 
rounded paunch. 

And when Gage, exhausted, turned in for a 
kink — he, too, had slept little during the pre- 
ceding night, although the handlining vessel hav- 
ing got under weigh before dark, to put for home, 
was away from neighborhood of dangerous shoals 
before the worst fury of the gale struck her — 
the cook, hailing the second table gang to din- 
ner, gave orders that he should not be disturbed. 
“ He can eat when he wants to ! ” declared that 
autocrat of the forehold. 

But the passenger’s ears might have burned as 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 


435 


he slept, according to the old superstition of 
“ somebody speaking well of him,” while Barty 
told the story of their rescue to the second table. 

“ He stuck to the oar, like a game one,” he de- 
clared, “ all through the hard time we had, buck- 
in’ up to win’ard, tryin’ to get back aboard the 
vessel, and while we were rowing round, looking 
for her, fog so thick that you couldn’t see five 
dory lengths ahead — an’ I seeing vessels every- 
where, when my imaginations runned away with 
my brain! I wanted him to let me take both 
oars, but dickens a bit of him would sing 
small : though, by-an’-by, I could see that his 
heart was breakin’ in him with the rowin’ an’ 
the feelin’ that we were bound to go — some time. 

“ Well ! we drifted a long ways to leeward, 
after I gave up hopes of findin’ the vessel : that’s 
how we got a-foul of that handliner, the Edna 
Bell , she being under weigh, runnin’ off the bank. 

“ Wind was haulin’ to east’ard, then — kep’ 
breezin’ up an’ breezin’ up! Fog had lifted, but 
I knew the dory couldn’t live much longer in the 
wicked sea that no’the-easter was kickin’ up. 

“ Guess, the kid knew it, too ! When we 
sighted a vessel he just went about white about 
the gills — an’ pitched for’ard ! I took both oars 
into me own hands, — rowed for dear life to get 
’longside her! 


436 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ The skipper of the Edna — I know him 
well — ” Barty’s tone was lowered; “ he’s one o’ 
the good praying kind ; he said, a while later, that 
when he saw a dory with two men in her — one 
a mere boy of a man — he just stood to the rail, 
prayin’ to God that he might be able to save ’em 
— biddin’ one an’ another of the crew pray, too. 
He tried to bear down toward us ; wind wouldn’t 
let him! 

“ Just when we got anear her, a big wave come 
along — had it struck us, the dory would ha’ been 
kindling wood. Boys, it broke just before it 
reached us; we was caught in the curl, lifted up, 
swep’ a little nearer to the vessel; skipper was 
standing by to heave us a rope. I grabbed it an’ 
managed to dhraw the dory in ’longside! ” 

There was silence in the forecastle. The 
passenger, coming on deck an hour, or so, after 
this recital found himself “ old son ” oftener than 
before ; even Mudgie Sellar was disposed to make 
a lion of him. The skipper actually allowed him, 
fortified by dinner, to take the wheel and steer 
the vessel three or four miles, while he was 
“ sending her some,” in fisherman’s parlance — 
“ cracking sail on to her,” running for Boston 
Bay, to make T Wharf, Boston, with his trip of 
fish — Captain Ceeph standing by, to direct, to 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 437 


lend a lightning hand in heaving up or down, as 
exigency demanded. 

Since the gale moderated the wind had been 
doing stunts, hauling toward the west, then round 
again to north-east, whence it blew steadily 

— though, no longer as a “ ripsnorter ” — in the 
vessel’s favor, for several hours. Gage’s delight 
as he felt her do racing stunts under his guidance, 
with everything on her — all her light kites flying 

— knew no bounds. 

“ We’re getting a good thirteen and a half out 
of her, now, aren’t we, skipper ? ” he would cluck, 
exultantly. 

“ She’s certainly cutting out her thirteen knots 
an hour, any way 1 ” the captain would guardedly 
return. 

“ She’s feeling the weight of her kites, again ; 
we’ll be kiting by that tramp steamer away there, 
on the offing, before very long ! ” blew off the 
youthful wheelman, again, pantingly gazing afar 
at a blurr of smoke against the horizon, gradually 
becoming plainer — nearer — as the Gage less- 
ened the distance between her and it. 

His excitement and Oakley’s when, later, the 
vessel “ did the trick ” — kited past the puffing 
tramp — almost supplied gust enough to fill her 
sails, regardless of breeze. 


438 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ She can sail: she’s a dog ! Dickey’ll have 
to make a trip on her, some day ! And her skip- 
per’s a cracker jack ! ” exulted Gage, as, with 
Captain Ceeph to the wheel, the family boat, as 
Barty once dubbed her, showed the steamer a 
clean pair of heels. 

“ ‘ Cracker jack ’ — you’d say so, if you’d seen 
him take her over North Shoal ! ” muttered the 
nephew, proud of the inherited strain in him- 
self. 

“ Heart of a bullock — like the rest o’ them ! ” 
clucked Barty, “ cracking it on ” to Gloucester 
skippers, in general. “ Plenty o’ good red blood 
in it, an’ no back-down ! ” 

“ He’s talking of making his last fletching trip, 
next spring. Wonder if he’ll want me to go 
with him, up among the ice-bears and huskies ? ” 
laughed Oak. “For gracious sake! Gagie, 
you’re not going to everlastingly bamboozle your- 
self trying to box the compass? I could do it 
when I was ten years old, but I guess I’ve forgot- 
ten now ! ” 

“ Skipper’s going to teach me, so that I’ll have 
picked up something to take back to Latin School 
that other fellows can’t ‘ better ’ me on ! ” the pas- 
senger threw back, as Captain Ceeph, stationing 
him where he could get an eye on the compass 
within the cabin skylight — not obscuring the 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 439 


wheelman’s view of it — began to put him 
through his nautical paces : 

“ Nothe a point easterly 
No’ — noth-e east 
Nothe east a point northerly 
Nothe east! 

Nothe east a point easterly 
East noth-e east 
East a point no’therly 
East! 

East a point southerly 
East soth-e east 
Sothe east a point easterly 
Sothe east! 

Sothe east a point so-therly 
So’ — soth-e east 
Sothe a point easterly 
Sothe!” 

And, so on, until he had made a tour of the 
compass card and rattled off the whole points. 

“ Next trip you make with me, I’ll teach you 
to box it in three hundred and sixty degrees: 
that’ll make those brains of yours hustle ! ” chuck- 
led the skipper. 

“ Well ! I’ve got two souvenirs of the Georges 
trip to take ashore : that deep-sea tree for our 
little old musee — and ability to box the compass,” 
laughed the passenger late that evening, when the 
vessel having made a “ humming ” run — the 
no’the easterly with her — was beating up into 


440 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Boston Bay. Gage, drumming his feet upon the 
house, was going over the final stanzas of his 
“ boxing ” acquisition — rhymy-fashion, as the 
skipper threw them off : 


South a point westerly 
Sou’ — sou’-west 
Sou’west a point so’therly 
Sou’west ! 

Sou’west a point westerly 
West sou’-west 
West a point so’therly 
West! 

West a point northerly 
West nor’-west 
Nor’west a point westerly 
Nor’west! 

Nor’west a point no’therly 
Nor’ — nor west 
Nothe a point westerly 
Nothe!” 

“Well! you’ve worked round to North again 
— and fertilized that brain of yours — needs it 
badly enough ! ” laughed Oakley. “ I’ve got 
something more substantial than Georges bank 
trees or boxing the compass to take home with 
me ; I’ll have some forty dollars’ share, to put into 
tuition fees for evening classes, next winter ! 
How’s that for high?” with triumphant chuckle. 
“ They say we have about forty-five thousand 
pounds o’ fish aboard — mostly haddock and cod 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 441 


aboard in spite of the trip being cut short by that 
* blow/ If we had only made another set 
’twould have been fifty thousand, but, of course, 
he had to drive her for market, with the fish 
while ’twas fresh ! ” 

“Yes! the ‘bear’ will go back to his ship- 
yard hole, licking the honey off his paws,” stuck 
in Murray Sellar, laughing disagreeably, with 
jeering allusion to Oakley as the bear, a sarcas- 
tic term applied to the floating population, mostly 
Nova Scotians, who come to Gloucester for the 
summer fishing, returning home in winter to 
hibernate on northern farms, licking their hon- 
eyed claws — in other words, clutching fat 
purses. 

“ I guess, you couldn’t find a den in the ship- 
yard ! ” flung back young Rose ; “ maybe, if you 
could, you’d be glad to get back to it and not go 
winter-fishing, at all ! ” 

“ Queer specimen — that Mudgie ! He seems 
bent on blanketing your sails on every tack ! ” 
laughed the passenger, presently, airing his clip- 
pings from nautical phraseology. 

“ If you’d been bunking for’ard, Oak, he’d 
have found other ways o’ making a hare of you 
— meanin’ a laughing-stock ; he’d ha’ been put- 
ting up jokes on you morning, noon an’ night, 
whenever he got a chanst,” murmured the Irish- 


442 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


man. “ Guess he’s on to every trick that could 
be played upon a greeny ! ” 

“ Oh ! I’ll bet we could match him there. How 
would a bunk-full of powder crackers suit him? ” 
challenged Gage. “ I’ll lay in a stock, if ever I 
go fishing with him again ! ” 

“ Well, I’ve heard tell of a man who slept in a 
berth full of razors ! ” remarked Barty dubiously. 
“ Don’t know but your powder crackers might 
be worst o’ the two.” 

However, there was destined to be a brief sup- 
plement to the Georges trip, on which a Latin 
School boy and his powder crackers did not come 
in. About a month later the Richard A. Gage 
was again in Boston Bay, “ pollocking,” off 
Minot’s Ledge — an unusual thing for a vessel 
launched but a year, which had won golden opin- 
ions from the two skippers who had taken her 
out. 

But in a sense the cheap pollock was “ king ” 
this year, and lay over all other fish, for the im- 
mense quantities in which it was to be taken in 
near-home waters: the Gage's owners had fitted 
her out for a short “ hooking trip ” in the Bay, 
and thereabouts, before she should go away up 
to Newfoundland, after frozen herring. 

Therefore, for a brief season, during the end of 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 443 


September and October, she became a “ two- 
hooker,^ ” her crew fishing, each man from his 
stand at her rail, with a line in either hand — the 
identical crowd who had set their trawls on 
Georges, at the beginning of that August blow. 
Same skipper, too ! The captain who had gone as 
master of the Gage for the first months after she 
was launched, was still detained ashore by the 
prolonged illness of his wife. Captain Ceeph 
took the vessel out again in her new character; 
and as it happened to be a particularly slack sea- 
son in the Essex shipyards, rainy, too, work inter- 
mittent, his nephew made a week’s trip with him, 
hoping to add another slice of profits out of fish- 
ing to the sum netted by that whirlwind of work 
on Georges, to be used in educational advantages 

— evening classes in ship-draughting and the like 

— during the coming winter. 

Of course, Murray Sellar was not backward in 
allusions to a “ bear ” who had again crept forth 
from his shipyard den, to collect more honey 
out of fishing, and would crawl back before the 
really hard winter season set in. So frequent 
were his allusions to it that others of the crowd 
felt bored. Under Captain Cephas the Gage 
was in more senses than one a “ family boat ” ; as 
with many a Gloucester vessel, her crew were 
like one big family of brothers — or a floating 


444 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


home school, with the skipper as principal — and 
they did not take it in good part that one of their 
number should always be the butt. 

But on this trip Mudgie had scope for devising 
other means of “ taking the wind out of a fel- 
low’s sails,” more wet-blanketing than mere 
words ! The transient fisherman, as Oakley 
might be called, was bunking for’ard in the fo’- 
c’s’le now — two other men, fishing right along, 
being installed in the big walnut-fronted crib, 
where Greengage and he had hobnobbed as bunk- 
mates. 

On a certain late September evening the Gage, 
had made a quick run of an hour-and-half, or 
so, out from Gloucester to the neighborhood 
of Minot’s Light — despite the fact that she was 
going “ flat-roofed,” now, topmasts and kite 
topsails having been taken off her, for winter 
service. Men had drawn for their stands at the 
pollocking rail, before she left the wharf : a 
curious raffling game in which the skipper held 
his hat, containing “ tickets,” or folded slips of 
paper, each bearing inside a number, correspond- 
ing to one at the rail, already marked. It did not 
seem to appease “ Mudger ” at all that he drew 
a good stand at the quarter rail, where fish would 
most congregate, round the stern of the vessel 
— where he would get the stray of the tide, as 


THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 


445 


fishermen say — and the “ bear ” a poor one, up 
for’ard in the bow. 

He was particularly bearish in his allusions that 
evening, until a transient, tired of thinking up re- 
torts, was glad when men began to turn in for a 
kink, while yet September daylight hovered 
over the Bay, where the vessel had dropped 
anchor, off Minot’s Ledge, with its great light- 
house, second in the world, which will rock so in 
a gale as to spill half the water in a full pail, 
without collapsing! 

Two men were left on deck, on eager look-out 
for a sportive “ flip,” pollock’s tail breaking 
water! Those below had not slept very long, 
when there was a furious stamping on deck, fol- 
lowed by a voice yelling “ POLLOCK ” down 
the fo’c’s’le companionway — as if it were the 
last trump ! 

In a second all hands were rushing on deck, 
catching up “ oilpants,” or barbols — oilskin 
aprons — the sea being somewhat rough, they 
were likely to get well “ wet down ” while fishing 
from the rail. 

The “ bear ” came last, scrambling into oilskin 
pants, as he gained the deck, which was a wild 
scene of scurry, every man hustling to bait his 
two hooks with quarters of herring, and get to 
his stand while fish were biting. 


446 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


But what was this? Midway of the oilskin 
leg the transient fisherman felt his charging foot 
stop short, with such a tripping shock that he 
pitched forward, for simultaneously his left 
foot struck another snag higher up in the second 
yellow leg. He rolled helplessly forth upon the 
deck, under the saffron glare of two lanterns set 
upon the bait table, to reinforce fading daylight ! 
Rolled, with the vessel’s roll, down into the 
weather scuppers, while a laughing voice yelled 
out of the scurrying melee : “ Will somebody 

send for his Mammy — to help dress him? ” 

“ Will somebody send for his Mammy — to 
help dress the bear ? ” echoed other tones, well 
known, with a sneer for their figurehead. 

Simultaneously, Oakley felt a third one of the 
crowd kicking at him — not ill-naturedly, but in 
a wild hurry to fish — with a shrill “Scat! Out 
of the way, there : you’re blocking my stand ! ” 
He tore himself free of the tangling oilskins, 
sprang to his feet — maddened — the lantern-lit 
deck rocking in an orange mist! 

“ Your doing, Murray Sellar! You reefed my 
oilpants! I’ll fix — you!” 

But that ropewalk lesson had not wholly mis- 
carried! Snatches of laughter, around, told the 
helpless butt that, though the crowd’s sympathies 
were with him, this must be taken as “ a trick of 



He rolled helplessly forth upon the deck. — Page 446 








THE POLLOCKER’S DECK 447 


the boys ! ” It was like eating fire to swallow the 
rising flame of passion, but a game bear did so, 
breaking into an unsteady laugh. 

“ One on me, fellows ! ” he gurgled. “ Mudgie 
scored that time. But I’ll get even! Chuck me 
my bait-knife, Pin ! ” 

“ Great guns! You’d be an hour ripping them 
reefings,” returned Gardner, his former dory- 
mate. “ You’ll find a spare pair of oilpants in 
my bunk; jump into ’em, boy, an’ get to your 
stand quick; the flips are coming fast an’ furi- 
ous — fast and furious ! ” 

So fast did they come, all night, so hurried 
was the run for home, laden to the hatches with 
fresh round pollock, that the victim had no time to 
think up any practical joke, that would be an 
adequate reprisal! And he did not go fishing 
again that year. 

To be sure, he fashioned a fine rounded pollock 
from worthless old newspaper, labeled it, 
“ CATCH ! ” in capital letters, pinned it to the 
tail of Murray’s shore coat, so surreptitiously that 
the latter walked up the wharf with his paper- 
catch tag — insinuating that this was all he had 
taken on the pollocking trip — a delighted crowd 
not “ letting on ” by a blink ! 

But, after all, this did not seem to the former 
butt a sufficient reprisal for old scores! He 


448 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


had little idea that the difference between Mudgie 
and himself was to be sifted to the bottom and 
evened up amid scenes far wilder than those of 
Boston Bay, wilder even, or with added elements 
of terror thrown in, than those which he had 
wrestled through on Georges Bank! 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE ICE-BEAR 



MID wilder scenes ! The halibut fletcher, 


Iris , a new vessel launched little over a 


year, was trawling away up north on the 
Funk grounds, somewhere about latitude fifty- 
three, nearly fifteen hundred miles out from Glou- 


cester. 


She had left port in the first week of May, 
taking bait with her sufficient to commence fish- 
ing and steering ever to the northward had, as 
sometimes happens, never sighted land again, 
not even the bold Cape Race, after she left 
Thatcher’s outpost behind. 

It seemed to young Oakley Rose, by the time 
she had been four weeks’ out, and a few days’ 
fishing on her present “ berth,” some two hundred 
miles off the Labrador coast, that he had never 
known anything but sea about him all his life. 

Oakley was aboard her. Captain Cephas, one 
of the best skippers in the fletching line sailing 
out of Gloucester, had been offered command of 
the new vessel by her owners. By a curious coin- 


449 


450 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


cidence, she happened to be the “ corking craft ” 
whose green keel was canted in the shipyard on 
the very day when Oak secured work there, and 
felt that the humble keel of his own fortunes 
was set up! 

The growth of a vessel’s fortunes is swift and 
easy, compared with those of an ambitious lad : 
the Iris had been duly launched, was going now 
for over a year, flying her light kites, all the sail 
she could carry, weather permitting, save during 
her stormy midwinter trips. While her shipyard 
twin seemed far off as ever from getting what 
he would deem a “ fair show ” on the launching 
ways, far as ever from seeing ambition’s light 
topsails unpuckered to a favorable breeze. 

He had toiled in the shipyard all the winter 
when work was severe and intermittent, and a 
vessel’s side hoary before its time with frost or 
snow. With the “ bear’s honey,” as Mudgie 
called it, gathered from his Georges’ fishing trip, 
with his share of the profits of that whirligig of 
toil, he had paid the tuition fees for attendance 
on evening classes in “ ship-draughting,” rudi- 
mentary naval architecture, in Gloucester. 

And the mould-loft across the river was still 
his lecture-room and laboratory, where under his 
friend, “ Professor,” he was ever gaining fresh 
insight into a vessel’s being, not only as to the 


THE ICE-BEAR 


451 


technical work of drawing her lines, but into the 
mystery of her birth as well. 

Since that Georges trip it seemed to him the 
more than ever that the classical motto of his 
high school days : “ Laborare est orare ” might 
be emblazoned, here. Here, where the archi- 
tect’s vessel first took shape, was “ faired 
up,” knowing as he knew now how much 
the behavior of that vessel and the lives of men 
hung upon such fairing, on the perfect trim and 
accuracy of every line! Had the Richard A. 
Gage not been the perfectly balanced boat she 
was, then had she never stood up under that ter- 
rible sea on Georges, which tried to throw her, 
while it suspended him out. 

Sometimes, as he watched his friend, the 
mould-maker, whittling out of white pine the 
block model of a vessel before cutting her moulds, 
to make sure that she was as fine a combination 
of seaworthiness and speed as human brain could, 
at present achieve, the carving seemed to the 
young enthusiast great as the marble or bronze 
chipping of an Angelo or a St. Gaudens: their 
toil was to perpetuate the memory of men — this 
to save men’s lives! 

And, here, in the long many-windowed mould- 
loft, when rain or blizzard held up work in the 
shipyard, young Rose began to try his hand again 


452 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


at drawing the design of a fisherman which 
would, as he fondly dreamed, have points in her 
favor over and above those of any other vessel 
going. 

He did not begin with her sail-plan, this time, 
but went to work more technically, drawing her 
amidship section — widest part on deck — rabbet 
line on the keel, deck line, sheer line, and so 
forth, working in the stations where her frames 
ought to come. 

It involved patient, plodding work of months, 
at leisure intervals, this construction plan, meas- 
uring every inch, calculating each hairsbreadth. 
In the spring he was just getting along to finding 
his vessel’s centre of effort in her sails, and draw- 
ing her sail-plan, as he had drawn the kited fisher- 
man, sole witness of his hove-down hour in a 
whitewashed den, when Captain Ceeph began to 
fit out for the long fletching trip up north to Lab- 
rador waters. And though the latter said little 
or nothing on the subject, it was evident that he 
would be secretly pleased if the nephew on whom 
he had come to rely as a son, took it into his head 
to ship with him. 

Oak resigned his shipyard berth, feeling pretty 
confident that if this were not open to him on his 
return from a four months’ trip, another would 
be, and gave the drawing board with his cher- 


THE ICE-BEAR 


453 


ished design over into “ Professor’s ” safekeep- 
ing. To his friend Gage he bequeathed his “ best 
girls ” in the old prints, should he never come 
back, constituting him their guardian pro tem. 

It was with a pang of regret that there would 
be no Latin School boy as bunkmate on this pro- 
longed trip that he got out the white duck bag, 
proceeded to fit out with warm clothing, and 
shipped to trawl in northern waters for the gamy 
halibut, one half or quarter of which when salted 
down and later cured ashore, would form the 
choice fletch — go out all over the continent as 
smoked halibut. 

Now, therefore, on a certain freezing morning 
in the beginning of June, a lad found himself at 
daybreak — if day could be said to break, seeing 
that the sun had barely dipped below the horizon, 
leaving a twilight apology for night, lasting some 
three hours — on look-out in the Iris's bow, as 
she lay to an anchor. At the present moment, his 
chief duty was to guard against the near ap- 
proach of berg, ice-floe, or pan of ice; ice being 
the trawler’s added enemy here, where the fog 
was not lacking, dreary black fog, worse even 
than its grey brother on Georges. 

Hugo, the “ Portuguee,” was on deck with 
him. Mostly the “ crowd ” was the same crowd, 
which had gone over in dories from the Gage on 


454 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Georges’ bank, for fishermen will generally attach 
themselves to a skipper rather than to the vessel. 
There were exceptions of course : The Pin, nice 
fellow ! declared that he did not carry “ enough 
surplus blubber ” to exist in a region fit only for 
Huskies — Esquimaux — and ice-bears. Frenchy 
shrank from facing the cold of a northern fletch- 
ing trip, too. 

Oak had Rowley Dunn, musical “ Roll-down,” 
for dorymate. On this bitter morning when, 
muffled to the ears, he watched fuller day creep 
back, he had little idea how within an hour or 
two Roll-down would give a graphic illustration 
of his nickname — was not thinking of his dory- 
mate at all, while he listened to Hugo, lately ar- 
rived from the Azores, who never took Oakley 
quite seriously as a fisherman, holding forth on 
tourists’ opinion of those toilers of the deep. 

“ Dey come aboar’ vessel taking out her fish,” 
said Hugo, alluding to summer visitors ; “ dey 
t’ink fisherman no gentlemans ’cause he no smell 
rosen cologne ! Ever’ mans smell his own trade, 
sailor he smell tar, painter-man he smell paint, 
fishermans he smell fish — he gentlemans shust 
the same ! ” 

“ Guess he is, Hugie ! ” Oak was admitting, 
when the other broke into a musical hiss, a “ Z- 
Z-Z-Z ! ” of startled awe. 


THE ICE-BEAR 


455 


“ Beeg berg off d’ere to leewar’ I Beeg as a 
shursh ! ” he gasped. “ Skipper, he want get 
water from her.” 

“ You’d think she was a cow that we were go- 
ing to milk,” muttered Oak, with a frostbound 
chuckle. “ I just ‘ made ’ her,” he added, jealous 
of his reputation as a good look-out, gazing off 
at the huge twin-peaked iceberg, trailing its wan 
garments of morning mist, like a ghost from 
some world that had been. 

“ Great guns ! isn’t she a whale ? Isn’t she a 
roarer?” ejaculated the young look-out, reflect- 
ing Hugo’s awe at the majestic size of the berg, 
big as a flotilla of whales. “ Looks as if half o’ 
Greenland had foundered and gone adrift.” 

Hurriedly stepping to the cabin hatchway, he 
shouted down : “ Iceberg to leeward, Cap ! 

Regular roarer! Want we should take a couple 
o’ dories an’ go 4 milk her ’ ? ” laughingly. 

“ I’ll come on deck and take a look,” returned 
Captain Ceeph’s voice, as the skipper awoke from 
his cat’s-nap, sleeping as he generally did, aboard, 
with one eye open. 

Five minutes later, while day crept back in the 
small hours, between one and two of that June 
morning, the Iris's deck became a scene of wak-r 
ing excitement. 

The captain, tumbling up to gaze eagerly forth 


456 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


over the lee rail, burst forth with: “ Yes, boys, 
over with the dories, couple o’ barrels in each, an’ 
go ‘ milk her ’ : we’ve got to get water from that 
fellow or lose a week ! ” 

The Iris on leaving port had taken aboard 
only about a hundred gallons of water, sufficient 
to last her for three weeks, her skipper know- 
ing that, when he arrived on the fishing grounds, 
he could replenish the water-tank from some trav- 
eling iceberg, procuring “ fine water,” fresher, 
cooler, than what he could take with him. 

For the past three or four days, however, no 
berg had come near enough to be “ milked ” ; 
the quantity in the tank was running low. 
Captain Cephas began to be afraid that he should 
have to put into some inlet, Domino Run or In- 
dian Tickle, go ashore among the “ Huskies,” as 
fishermen call Esquimaux, to obtain a fresh sup- 
ply, thereby losing time from the fishing which 
had started in well with a halibut on nearly every 
trawl-hook after the first set had been made. 

Hence his almost boyish delight when the berg- 
fellow hove in sight to be milked of the pure 
water which thirsty throats needed more than 
any lacteal fluid. 

But it was nothing to the whooping excitement 
of the milkers simultaneously lowering two 
dories, one to port, one to starboard, entering on 


THE ICE-BEAR 


457 


a laughing race to see which would reach that 
glassy cow first. 

“ Send her, boy ! Send her ! Drive her ! ” 
panted Oak to his dorymate, Roll-down, laughing 
at the two barrel-casks, lashed in the stern, bob- 
bing like portly passengers as the dory fled over 
ice-cold waves — beside them the keen axe for 
chopping ice, should no melted lakelet be found 
easy of access, on the berg. “ Hi, there ! 
Mudgie/’ he called, as their little boat, having 
half-a-minute’s start, shot ahead. “ Hi there ! 
We’ll board that cow-fellow first,” laughingly 
glancing over his swaying shoulder at the ice- 
mountain. 

“ Holy smoke ! Wouldn’t I laugh if you found 
something aboard of her before you — a starving 
ice-bear,” flung back Murray Sellar, who was in 
the second boat with Bluebeard. “ The Blanche’s 
crowd said they saw one a couple of days ago,” 
alluding to a solitary vessel which the Iris had 
spoken. 

The yearning was not so ferocious as it 
sounded : Mudgie’s tone held only harmless ban- 
ter. The relations between two young fellows 
were not so strained as aforetime. During the 
first week out there had been some wordy pas- 
sages-at-arms between them, some “ putting up 
of jobs ” on one another. Murray had hung 


458 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Oak’s seaboots aloft on the crosstrees, where he 
had to run up the ratlines to get them ; Oak had 
retaliated by tying an empty draw-bucket to 
Mudgie’s ankle with reefing knots when, coming 
on deck to go on watch, he chanced to catch the 
former look-out sound asleep. 

The bumping clatter which Murray made, hob- 
bled to his bucket, brought half-a-dozen sleepy 
men who bunked for’ard tumbling up the fo’c’s’le 
companionway, mistaking it for the heavy stamp- 
ing of the look-out, telling of steamer or sailing 
vessel coming for them. And they did not spare 
the hobbled victim of drowsiness a tongue-drub- 
bing. 

Thereafter, Mudgie let pranks alone — taunts, 
too — lest somebody should say “ draw-bucket ! ” 
to him. And as he forebore to feed the causeless 
grudge which he seemed to have hitherto nour- 
ished against young Rose, it began to die a nat- 
ural death, here, amid icy waters of the North, 
where the vast loneliness — not even another ves- 
sel in sight — drew men together. 

So, in answer to the ice-bear wish, Oak threw 
back, while helping to “ send ” the dory after a 
fashion to justify Gage's eulogy that he was a 
hummer at the oar: “Well! if we should be 
fetched up short by a white bear, we’ll tumble for 


THE ICE-BEAR 


459 


the dory, and tell him you’re coming. He’d be 
likely to be pretty hungry — ” panting with the 
smart rowing — “ if he’s been drifting on that 
half o’ Greenland for three weeks, or so, since it 
foundered from the shore! He couldn’t chew 
ice enough to keep him alive ! ” throwing another 
laughing nod toward the berg. 

“Well! he couldn’t come too fast — couldn’t 
jump for you — on the ice,” heaved out Rowley. 

“‘Jump!’ I guess if he couldn’t jump he’d 
roll for you ! ” Murray’s laugh clicked in the 
frosty air, like ice in a jar. “ Bluebeard says he 
wouldn’t leave the iceberg, though, unless he 
could board something ’longside: wouldn’t jump 
into the sea to get at a feller ! ” 

“ So I’ve been told,” Bluebeard broke into a 
cackle of laughter that rocked his stubbly chin 
on which cold had deepened the indigo shade to 
purple. “ But I tell ye, b’y, what I’d like to see, 
is the man that ud stand to find out whether he’d 
jump or not ! That’s what I’d like to see ! ” 

They were approaching the great twin-peaked 
mountain of ice now, skirting it to leeward, where 
the huge bulk, hollowed at the base, made a curi- 
ous little snug harbor. 

“ Whoo’ ! whoo’ ! Makes a fellow feel as if he 
had been kept on ice for a month, himself ! ” 


460 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


shivered Oakley, as the frigid current of air 
round the berg pressed in under his oilskins as he 
had known the sea to do. 

“ Cold’s fierce, isn’t it ? Sort o’ puts one in a 
straight jacket!” ejaculated Rowley, accustomed 
to “ straight-jacketing ” the jib on the vessel. 

“ Hark to the ‘ rout,’ to win’ard ! Ain’t it the 
mournfulest ? ” gurgled his companion again, 
with tooth-chattering laughter. 

It certainly was as dismal a lament as human 
thoughts could imagine : that wailing plash of the 
breaking sea — breaking against weather side of 
the immense berg, traveling through the water 
at a slow rate of three or four knots an hour, 
seven-eighths of it submerged. 

The thought of that covered vastness, while 
one-eighth above the purple water looked “ like 
half of Greenland adrift,” the piercing blue of the 
ice-mountain, together with its trailing envelope 
of cold, covered the lads with gooseflesh, despite 
a tingle in their blood from rowing. 

“ Remember what the skipper was getting off 
to us last night round the cabin stove ’bout ice- 
bergs?” said Rowley. “ Sakes alive! it made a 
fellow feel kind o’ skittish when he told about 
those great ice canyons ’way up in northern 
Greenland — what’s that he called ’em — gla — 
glaciers ? ” 


THE ICE-BEAR 


461 


His mate nodded frostily. They were ’long- 
side the ice-mountain now, standing out clear-cut, 
freezingly bold as if washed by the early day- 
light against a background of receding mist; the 
sun like a huge ball of fire, one-half orange, the 
other golden, swiftly mounting above it, throwing 
not a smile yet on its snowy cap or on empurpled 
waves about it, as if the contract to warm such 
an icy planet were too big a one for him. 

“ And the skipper, he said,” went on Roll- 
down, “ how those hundreds o’ miles o’ glaciers 
kep’ ever a-filling and a-sliding — sliding seaward 
— till they reached the drop o’ the sea-wall : 
there, in the spring, a great ‘ junk ’ of the ice, the 
overhang, would break off, an’ go adrift — that’s 
what forms the iceberg ! ” 

“ There’s life on that overhang, too, pretty 
often,” struck in Bluebeard from the other boat, 
now abreast of its fellow, while fishermen picked 
up their axes, prepared to board the berg — to 
chop ice or fill barrels. “ ’Most always, three or 
four bears will have their hovels in the snow on it, 
and when that everlasting big junk breaks off, 
turning head over heels most likely — then, 
there’s a mad scravel! Some o’ the bears go 
under, drown, or get back to the mainland ; others 
come up out o’ the scravel, clinging to the berg, 
think they’re saved, but they ain’t — only drift 


462 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


on an’ on, till they starve to death. Well — ” to 
his dorymate, “ I guess it’s time to get busy an’ 
milk her : I tell ye, b’y, I ain’t going to stand an’ 
freeze ! ” 

“ I suppose a bear could climb chock to the top 
o’ this fellow; I hope if there’s one on it, he’ll 
keep to the snowline,” laughed young Rowley, 
as axe in hand, he boarded the berg, Oakley 
steadying the dory alongside it by holding on to 
a knob of ice with his mittened hands. 

Despite the “ cold’s straight-jacket,” as he 
stood there, half freezing — watching his dory- 
mate chopping away, with steely echo at great 
clear nubbles of ice — extending them down into 
the dory, there was a wild exhilaration in the 
heart of the boy, still young enough to pluck the 
flower of novelty from desert-wilds of hardship. 

“ Go it, Roll-down ! Rip ’em out ! Slide her 
down! Let her go! ” he kept shouting at inter- 
vals, feeling as if his voice would stiffen into an 
ice-nubble if he didn’t use it, while clinking blows 
of the axe-head reverberated above him. 

“ Want me to chop ice a while now, an’ you 
hold the dory ’longside ? ” 

The question was never answered. A wild yell 
from Rowley that rang like steel against the ice- 
mountain, skated down to him. 

“ My soul ! My soul ! look what’s coming for 


THE ICE-BEAR 


463 


us. Whoo’ ! whoo’ ! Holy sailor ! look — look 
what’s c-coming ! ” 

No need to say “ look! ” As for the lad bal- 
ancing himself in the dory, grappling the iceberg, 
his dilating eyes seemed never really to have seen 
anything before — never till he beheld a wild- 
faced dorymate, sliding, pitching, staggering in 
a wild tumble for the boat ! Behind him a ribby 
bear-form, big as a Jersey heifer, though not so 
tall — lengthy starveling, on which the white coat 
hung loosely — sleek small head, mere cage for 
two eyes in which hunger hollowed a flame, wild 
as the play of Northern lights on ice, round as 
the flaming sphere hollowed by the emergency 
torch in fog! 

“ Whoo’ ! whoo’! For heaven’s sake! get into 
the boat quick ! Qui-quick ! He’s coming. 
Keeps — keeps coming !” yelled Oak frantically, 
holding the dory for his mate, while the bear, in- 
deed, “ kept coming,” no more particular about 
the manner of his charge than poor Roll-down, 
sliding on his haunches, rolling over and over, 
donkey-fashion, pitching, tumbling, any old gait 
— to make up for his inability to go fast down- 
hill and on the ice, uttering low coughing growls 
that seemed to come from the glassy heart of the 
berg. 

To Rowley, these seemed to strike him like an 


464 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


executioner’s sword on the back of the neck. To 
dodge them, he made a blind jump for which the 
bear was too wary, slid some yards, lost his foot- 
ing, rolled over and over in turn, right into the 
dory which his mate held for him, striking his 
head a furious blow against his harvest of ice in 
her, while another bluish nubble which he had 
just chopped loose, slid in on top of him. 

“ My soul ! My soul ! ” exclaimed Oak, feel- 
ing himself at the heart of the wildest “ scravel ” 
of his life, as he hurriedly seized the oars and 
sent the dory flying a few yards, his eye on the 
widening chasm between her and the berg-island, 
on whose edge now appeared the sleek white 
starveling, with “ flare-up ” eyes. 

“ My soul and body ! isn’t he a terror ? ” 
gnashed the rower, his mind swept clear of every- 
thing but the echo of Bluebeard’s words : “ I tell 
ye, b’y, what I’d like to see is the man who’d 
stand to find out whether he’d jump or not! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE BLACK NORTH 

T HE ice-bear did not take to the water. 

He eyed the dory and its inmates with 
the flare of a three-week’s hunger in his 
eye. But, the swiftly widening gulf that broad- 
ened like a flash between berg and boat was too 
appalling for him to make any savage attempt to 
board the latter. 

As the dory with Bluebeard and Murray, star- 
tled by the steely echo of Roll-down’s cries, came 
flying along, two pairs of arms “ sending her ” 
for all they were worth, the polar bear, seeing 
that he could not fight and to swim he was afraid, 
disappeared behind a blue spur into some glassy 
crevasse of the iceberg, whence he was bound to 
perish by drowning when that berg should 
founder in southern seas, unless he died from 
starvation first. 

“WhooM Whoo’! did you see him coming 
for us? Wasn’t he a roarer? And his eyes — 
like the flare-up! An ice-bear, boys! Big as a 
whale! He’s on her, now,” shrilled Oak, still 
465 


466 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


driving the dory, coughing up excitement at 
every stroke, together with the fisherman's two 
synonyms for size. 

The others who had been filling their casks 
from a small sun-melted lake which they had dis- 
covered on right glassy peak, were in a frenzy 
too. They had caught a glimpse of the starve- 
ling's milky coat, discolored-looking under the 
berg’s snow-cap, as he vanished into his glassy 
hollow — and were yearning for a rifle. But to 
board that berg again, rout him out of his lair, 
armed with nothing but their axes, seemed in- 
sanity. 

“ I 'most wish he had jumped into the water 
after ye, b'y! He’d have capsized one of the 
dories, but I guess we’d have managed to finish 
him between us, with the axes. 'Twould ha’ been 
a mad scravel, though ! ” roared Bluebeard ; then 
he suddenly swallowed down his convulsive ex- 
citement at sight of Rowley prone across a dory- 
thwart, sandwiched between the ice like some huge 
halibut, rendered insensible by a blow from the 
“ killer ” club. 

“ When he saw what was coming, Rowley, he 
just tumbled for the boat!” gasped the latter’s 
dorymate. “ Lost his footing an’ rolled for her ; 
his head came a bad bumper against that ice. 
Other big nubble, there, pitched in atop of him; 


THE BLACK NORTH 


467 


guess it struck him on back of the head, too ! ” 

Bluebeard's face looked grave, as he grappled 
the dories together and examined the injured 
man, disposing him more comfortably in the 
boat’s bottom. Stepping from one rowboat to 
the other, he took an oar with Oakley. 

“ I guess, we’d better lose no time in getting 
aboard the vessel,” he said, leaving Murray to 
follow with the two barrels of water, which he 
had captured by milking the berg, splashing over 
in the second rowboat, like teary-eyed mourners. 

Excitement about the bear was effectually 
“ stove in.” In each one’s breast was the fear 
that he was carrying back to the vessel a dead or 
dying man, favorite with them all — young Row- 
ley, who loved to turn her deck into a great musi- 
cal box under their feet. 

It almost seemed like a triple funeral proces- 
sion : the “ roarer ” berg drifting south to 
founder, starveling bear, doomed, too, and the 
injured shipmate, unconscious still from the blow 
on his head, as he was hoisted over the rail. 

His condition wrapped the vessel in gloom as 
of black fog. Not for twenty-four hours did the 
captain have “ any hopes of him.” And, even 
then, he lay either in a stupor or delirious, raving 
alternately about home and of the flare-eyed mon- 
ster that kept coming for him over the ice. 


468 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


In fact, the sudden appearance of that savage 
hermit of the iceberg worked some curious 
changes among the vessel’s crowd; oddest of 
which was that it threw Oak and Murray Sellar 
together as dorymates. Three days before two 
boats had gone out to “ milk ” the berg, our old 
friend, Palmy, the Down-easterner, had got a 
bait-hook into his hand, which became so in- 
flamed that the skipper, fearing possibility of 
blood-poisoning, would not let him fish ; the cook 
had been going in the dory with Mudgie, to set 
his trawls. Now, this many-sided steward had 
to stay and tend the injured man while the captain 
looked after the vessel. Oakley and the fellow 
who had delighted in blanketing his sails on that 
Georges trip, were temporarily partners. 

There was no such belittling disposition mani- 
fest on Murray’s part now : alone with one’s mate 
in a sixteen-foot dory, amid mists, ice, and desert 
solitude of the far North, it is well to believe that 
one’s dorymate is capable of carrying sail of cour- 
age and wisdom in an emergency, as well as one’s 
self. So the arrangement worked well, with one 
exception, that Mudgie showed himself given to 
occasional silent fits of gloom as if the black fog 
of the North had got hold of him and sat like 
a surly black dog on his shoulder — which to his 


THE BLACK NORTH 


469 


temporary partner recalled Gage’s characterizing 
of him as a “ queer fish.” 

He was possessed by one of his blue spells on 
the fourth morning of their fishing together when 
at the skipper’s order: “ Top dories and hurdy- 
gurdies ! ” over went the small boats, men going 
forth to haul their trawls, set the day before, be- 
tween one mile and two from the vessel. Oak 
was feeling particularly jubilant: for the first 
time, this morning, the “ Doctor,” cook, held out 
confident hopes of Roll-down’s recovery, and 
Rowley’s dorymate felt as if he hardly knew what 
to do with himself amid bounding thrills of relief. 

He whistled and laughed as he slammed things 
about in the dory, to make sure that all needfuls 
were aboard: four ash oars, to supplement the 
sails, mainsail and tiny jib about the size of a 
pocket handkerchief, compass, “ baler,” a shovel- 
like scoop to bale with; knife, killer-club, and 
gaff. 

“Great snakes! We’ve forgotten our ra- 
tions! ” he exclaimed, just as the boat was shov- 
ing off from vessel’s side. “ Better put back for 
’em — eh? ” 

“ Scat ! Don’t be such an old woman — afraid 
to go anywheres without your lunch,” snapped 
out Murray from the cloudy heart of his silence. 


470 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


And knowing that, eight times out of ten, fisher- 
men did forget or ignore the regulation rations 
— jug of water with canvas bag of bread and 
beef supposed to go with them in the dory — his 
mate said nothing more, but bent all his energies 
to sending her, driving the little boat out to- 
ward the farthest black ball of eight studding 
the sea to leeward. It bore their dory’s number, 
5, and was attached to a keg buoying one end of 
the trawl line which Murray and he had set the 
day before. 

Afar off, beyond their range of vision, at pres- 
ent the morning being misty, was a second black- 
balled buoy marking outer end of the trawl, there 
being sixteen in all belonging to the vessel, pop- 
ping up like black heads of swimmers from the 
surly waves. 

The sea was sullen ; it had “ got the vapors ” 
like his dorymate, so Oak thought, after one or 
two vain attempts to “ jolly ” the latter into some 
semblance of liveliness. 

“ He is a queer ‘ freak fish,’ this Mudgie! ” he 
grinned to himself, getting only monosyllables 
for answer, and forthwith trained his reflections 
on the vessel, from which he was rapidly rowing 
away. 

“ She looks like a ghost, with all her spars and 
rigging frost-coated ! ” he commented silently, be- 


THE BLACK NORTH 


471 


tween rowing gasps. “ She’s an able vessel ; 
though, not quite such a flyer as the Gage ” 

Still, she could “ hum some ” upon occasion. 
Oak, swaying to his oars, recalled, with glinting 
eye, a certain morning upon their northward 
course when after a heavy spell of weather, 
through which she had been running under four 
lowers, all light sails taken off, Captain Ceeph 
had come on deck, flashed a look at the clearing 
horizon and burst forth with: “Well! boys, 
we’ll get the kites and ‘ gasoliner ’ on her ! Loose 
gaff tops’ls — an’ give her the ‘ ballooner,’ too ! ” 

It tickled him all over with a pleasant sensation 
now to remember how the vessel, under the in- 
creased spread of canvas, had danced on her way, 
at the same time that it made him feel more lonely 
at leaving her, a sensation that he always had, 
more or less, when going forth to set or haul his 
trawls, in these northern waters, amid ice and 
fog. 

To-day, owning to the combined facts of his 
dorymate having the blues and that, the morning 
being already thick, he could not see the anchored 
vessel by the time he reached his first black ball, 
loneliness grew upon him, while he kept the dory 
slowly moving, her head to the waves, and Mur- 
ray worked the hurdy-gurdy, a small winch in her 
bow, reeling in the heavy trawl-line. 


472 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


A rather different method of trawling here 
from the haddocking on Georges : only one set a 
day: trawls left out all night, sometimes longer, 
if weather was such that fishermen could not haul 
them, lines used — both the ground line trailing 
along the bottom two hundred fathoms below, 
and short hook-bearing gangions — being very 
much heavier. 

It gave Oakley a queer sensation sometimes to 
fish in these icy northern waters with the lines 
manufactured far away in that sylvan arcade, the 
Essex rope walk — all except the buoy-line of 
Manila hemp used for lowering fishing lines to 
the bottom, with its keg-buoy and black ball at 
the surface end, its sinking anchor on the other. 

The first buoy had been heaved aboard, with 
him rowing slowly and Murray “ gurdying 
up,” turning the handle of the hurdy-gurdy 
winch, which lightened toil when hauling in the 
weighted line. Work went on favorably, if not 
gaily, a halibut on most of the hooks, with a 
scattering of small fry, catfish, wolf fish — funny 
little finny ovel — to be used for bait. 

“ We’ll get a dory-load, to-day,” said Oak, as 
they neared the outer buoy. “No ‘ beeges’ 
feesh as nobody nevare see,’ among ’em, though, 
as Frenchy used to say ! ” he added, trying a joke, 
to break down Mudgie’s silence and “ liven up ” 


THE BLACK NORTH 


473 


his own feelings, for he was all the time con- 
scious of the old enemy, the fog, ever stealthily 
encroaching on the sea — a new phase of it, too 
— like dusk gathering round him, ere ever noon 
had come. 

“Funk fish run small, don’t they?” he 
chirped on, bent upon keeping his attention on 
the halibut, averaging about forty pounds in 
weight, which Murray was slatting off the hooks. 
“ Seems queer to see ’em come aboard dead, too. 
Queer how they pine away and drown, on the 
bottom ! ” 

This natural fact of a fish drowning on the 
hook, when unable to move freely through the 
water, was one which had not yet lost its strange- 
ness to either of the young fishermen. 

“ Pshaw ! I believe if I had my way, I’d never 
kill anything but a rat,” ground out Mudgie, sud- 
denly breaking silence, after an unexpected fash- 
ion. “ But somebody’s got to do the fishing. 
Can’t see our outer buoy now — can you? 
We’re not far off it! Great sailor! it is thicken- 
ing up — black fog, too — ’twill be like taking 
our bearings on a pitch-dark night, trying to find 
the vessel.” 

Worse! A thousand times worse, as the two 
fishermen discovered half-an-hour later, when, 
after reeling in some seventeen hundred fathoms 


474 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


of trawl-line and heaving in their second black- 
balled buoy, they tried to steer a course by the 
little dory compass back to the vessel which they 
knew to be to the east’ard of them! Oakley, 
seated on the after-thwart, steering with an oar 
out over the starboard side, managing the little 
dory-sail at the same time, which he now hoisted 
to the fog-breeze! 

He had set up the “ stick,” or pigmy mast, two 
feet and a half tall, in its hole in the forward 
thwart, loosed the sheet which led aft, passing 
through the stern bucket of the dory, and coiling 
an end of the rope round his wrist, controlled it 
with his fingers. 

But worse than sable, darkness, without sun, 
moon, or stars, to guide them, was this dusk now 
coming on; for on the blackest clear night, if the 
vessel showed a light, fishermen could see it. 
Now, as Murray, who was rowing, supplement- 
ing the sail, gasped out presently, with a rasping 
sound, like a sob stove in: 

“ She might be burning a whole pail of kero- 
sene aloft in her main rigging, an’ we wouldn’t 
see a rushlight gleam! Can’t hear the horn 
either — can you ? ” 

“ No — it must be sounding all the time,” said 
Oak. “ I’m steering due east, too, making a good 
course, so far’s I can see.” 


THE BLACK NORTH 


475 


But though Mudgie rowed and the little leg o' 
mutton sail — hoisted to the “ spreet,” a rope 
which crossed it, leaving a triangular end of can- 
vas flapping over — filled and strained in the 
clammy breeze, though Oak kept a watchful eye 
on compass in its little wooden box on the thwart 
before him — steering with all the nautical lore 
which he had picked up for the hopeful east, one 
hour passed, two, three: and there was neither 
sight nor sound of the vessel ! Albeit, the 
Iris was, indeed, at that very time showing a 
monster flare-up — giant’s torch — a zinc bucket 
of blazing kerosene high up in her rigging, while 
keeping her horn going all the time. 

“ I doubt if we’ll get back to our ‘ hotel ’ to- 
night ! ” said young Sellar at last, with a defiant 
half-laugh, when the day, as the dorymates 
guessed, had gone over into afternoon, and even- 
ing was drawing on. “I doubt if we’ll get back 
to our hotel to-night, boy. But we’ll find her in 
the morning, the vessel ; guess the fog won’t lift 
till then. We’ll only have to take our chances 
through the night with the cold.” He tried to 
speak bravely. 

“ Lucky for us the night will be short ! ” mut- 
tered Oak, thinking with cold feet literally and 
figuratively of the reinforced twilight soon to 
shut down upon them. He had already admitted 


476 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


to himself that the fate which had befallen Green- 
gage, his chum, and Barty on Georges, was now 
his and his mate’s; they were astray from their 
vessel. For how long? 

But the torturing anxiety which he had suf- 
fered through that night of the gale on his bunk- 
mate’s account had inoculated him a little against 
fear, in its first stages, on his own. And as the 
drifting black fog, curdled dusk, shut down upon 
them blinding thick, so thick that it took on 
strange shapes, making Frenchy in his ragged ro- 
mancing seem not so far wrong, as if one could 
fashion brooms, if not “ broomsticks,” out of its 
ragged wisps — by force of contrariety, the fog 
seemed to lift from Murray’s spirits. 

“ You’re a ‘ freak fish,’ Mudgie,” muttered 
Oak, with a half-frozen guffaw. “ A queer freak 
fish ! All this morning you hadn’t a word in you 
— now you’re half training on! ” as young Sellar, 
after describing how Palmy and he had been 
astray for twenty hours in a dory on Quero Bank 
when they were picked up by another vessel, 
started on an account of how a shark had tried to 
get him out of different dory on different trip, on 
self-same bank. 

“ Directly I’d stand up in the boat, up would 
come sharkie, with his wicked old eye, wicked as 
sin, big as my fist, an’ strike the dory a blow with 


THE BLACK NORTH 


477 


his tail, trying to rock it, an’ spill me out ! When 
they hollered to me from the other boats to lie flat 
an’ he couldn’t see me, down he’d go. Two o’ 
the dories came to my help an’ beat him off. But 
wasn’t I the scaredest?” with a “ training-on ” 
laugh. 

“ Well, we’ve got to stick it out through the 
night, without squealing — an’ without food or 
water ! ” he added, in a different tone, replying to 
Oak’s challenge that he himself was a “ freak 
fish.” “ So we may as well begin by keeping 
our spirits up. I’m sorry now that we didn’t put 
back for our rations — jug of water and little old 
canvas bag,” with a squally sigh. “ Better throw 
over our fish, boy, that’ll lighten her some; we’ll 
have to row by spells through the night to keep 
from freezing. We’ll save two out of ’em,” leav- 
ing a couple of forty-pound halibut in the dory’s 
bottom, “ if we get pretty badly pinched, we can 
chew raw fish like the Huskies.” 

And so they stuck it out bravely through the 
short bitter night, a pair of lads, spelling each 
other in rowing, though thereby they lessened 
their chances of getting back to their “ hotel,” 
the vessel, their one little floating city of refuge 
on the icy desert deep. Neither could see the 
compass, or whether they were steering north, 
south, east or west, through those three hours of 


478 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


thickened twilight, daylight having stood by them 
until eleven: albeit Oak kept moistening between 
his lips the head of a match which Murray 
being a smoker, had in his pocket, drawing it 
along the margin of the compass card, hoping 
that the damp phosphorus would emit a faint 
gleam. An old trick of navigators! 

Still, each “ hung on to himself,” kept his grip, 
though the crushing cold, catching him between 
iron rollers as it were, seemed trying to flatten 
his nerve. 

“ We’ll get back aboard her in the morning,” 
one told the other, thinking of their floating 
“ hotel,” with its cheery warmth of cabin and 
fo’c’s’le stoves going night and day. “ If not, 
we’ll be picked up pretty soon by some other ves- 
sel.” Oakley thinking of Gage and the old two- 
hooker and fluttering Ensign in the rigging — 
Murray of his own experience on Quero Bank. 

The stone-cold fact of which each was aware, 
looming like an iceberg at the back of conscious- 
ness, neither would “ make ” or recognize : that 
the chance of being picked up by any vessel but 
their own in these Arctic seas was just one in a 
hundred as compared with the chances on 
Georges, or even on gale-swept Quero. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

“ TILL THE LAST GUN SHALL FIRE ” 

N OT until noon of next day, when they 
had been some twenty-eight hours 
astray, did the young fishermen ac- 
knowledge this fact, that they were not likely to 
be picked up by a strange vessel, and that, with 
the fog thick as ever, showing no signs of lifting, 
there was as little probability of finding their own. 

By this time, that blown black fog, whose va- 
por-minions glided by the dory like a horde of 
dusky dancers, began to play strange freaks with 
Oakley’s imagination. 

He started up abruptly, with rocking, eager 
cry ; then fell back on the thwart, in a collapsing 
ague. 

“ What’s that ? What’s that, boy ? Thought 
you saw a vessel by the way you ripped her out ! ” 
grated Murray sharply; he was seated on the 
after-thwart now, tending sail, steering with the 
oar. 

“ I thought I saw a vessel — that time,” shook 

479 


480 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


out his dorymate. “ She melted back into the 
fog just as I made her. I guess ’twas only the 
fog ‘ putting up a job ’ on me ! ” tremblingly. 

“ That’s the time your imaginations runned 
away with your brain, boy,” chuckled Murray, 
quoting Barty, but it was a very dreary chuckle. 
“ I’ve been seeing vessels all round, here, there, 
everywhere, since day came back,” describing a 
semicircle against the horizon of fog with his 
elbow in its baggy sleeve of yellow oil-jacket, 
glistening under the rain-streaked vapor like 
the amber silk of some Chinese potentate. 

“ Eh, what’s that? We nearly ran into a pan 
of ice,” he gasped presently, as a scooped floe 
drifted past amid those dusky mist-dancers, skirt- 
ing the ragged clearing in which the dory sailed 
on, just jogging aimlessly now, in a last despair- 
ing hope of finding the vessel. 

Oak started wildly too, shifting round on the 
midship thwart, where he had been using the 
oars after a desultory fashion to keep up circula- 
tion, peering off into the fog after that slowly 
moving ice-pan. “ Did you see him? ” he 
gasped, in numb excitement. “ Did you see him, 
boy? A fox! White fox. Poor little fellow, 
he looked pretty badly pinched. Wasn’t he 
pretty ? I suppose,” slowly, “ he’ll waddle about 
on that pan of ice, catching an occasional bird, till 


“ TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


481 


he starves or drowns — like the ice-bear on the 
berg.” 

“ I saw him,” Murray’s tone was curt. “ He’s 
in a blind fix, that fox,” he broke out after a 
heaving minute, but it’s not any worse than our 
own. We’re astray — hopelessly astray, boy — 
no use blinking it any longer! We won’t find 
the vessel now; we’ve only one chance, to steer 
for the land. We stand a poor show of ever 
reaching it, but — ” 

“ Steer for the land ? For the Labrador coast ? 
Why — it’s all of two hundred miles off ! ” 
wildly interrupted Oak, in the hoarse rasp which 
hardship, like a bad fairy, had given him, after 
stealing his own round boyish tones. 

“ Couldn’t we go ashore upon the Funk Is- 
lands ; they’re somewhere on these grounds ? ” he 
gasped presently, with the force of an inspiration. 
“ We could land on them and build a fire? ” 

“ They’re about forty miles to the south’ard,” 
returned Murray sadly. “ But there ain’t any 
Funk Islands, boy — only a scratch on the chart ! 
Only a few hummocks o’ sand that go under at 
high water ; then, where would your fire be ? ” 
with a wild accent on the warm noun as if the 
bare mention of it was too much. 

“ No, boy, we’ve got to steer to the west, or 
sou’west, for the land. We might make White 


482 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


Bay, on the northern coast of Newfoundland; 
it’s a slim opening, I guess, but it’s all the chance 
we’ve got! Wind’s with us anyhow, from the 
no’theeast; it’s breezing up some, too. Take an- 
other chew of halibut; then, you won’t feel so 
pinched: 

“ Pah ! I can’t swallow the raw stuff — peels 
my mouth and makes me sick,” added Mudgie a 
minute later, running counter to his own advice, 
as he spat out the square inch of raw fish which 
he had cut with his knife, as — the dory headed 
to westward — he paid out sheet, trusting to the 
breezing-up northeaster, friendly now, although, 
already, it was kicking up quite a tumble of sea, 
to fill the little leg o’ mutton sail and carry them 
along. 

Oak choked too on the lozenge of raw halibut, 
although he had during the past three hours whit- 
tled out a good many inches and swallowed them 
like a Spartan — or Esquimau. And the rain, 
dark crystal, dusky as the fog, which for the first 
time, gave him an understanding of what men 
meant by the “ black North,” steadily streak- 
ing down since morning, prevented his suffering 
overmuch from thirst. But blacker than rain 
or fog, was the dark realization of their plight 
now seizing him! He swayed upon the dory 
thwart, almost letting slip his oars, while the 


“ TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


483 


little boat rocked beneath him in the grey tumble 
of sea that began to threaten her life. They were 
in the same fix as the pretty, pinched fox and 
starveling ice-bear. Theirs would be the same 
doom : for he had very little hope of their making 
the two hundred miles to land either on the Lab- 
rador or Newfoundland coast, or ever reaching 
White Bay. Theirs to drift on and on, too, till 
they perished of hunger; and the Black Fog hid 
the tragedy of all three ! 

“ O God — ” began the boy. But the prayer 
foundered in his throat. 

Then slowly the wave of terror, which laid him 
over, cold, made his body feel dank, receded : like 
a righting vessel he began to come back on his 
feet again. “ I’m not going to squeal! he 
told himself, borrowing Jimmy Sweetman’s word. 
“ I guess ’twill be day — day, to us, but I’m not 
going to squeal ! I can stick it out, too, — till the 
last gun fires! Mudgie’s game; he’s not giving 
in a bit,” feeling a shock of respect for “ Mudgie 
boy ” as the fine flame of manliness broke through 
the moody, aforetime disagreeable, crust on the 
lad. 

Murray, indeed, was playing the cracker jack at 
this juncture. 

With a stub of pencil between the fingers of 
his right hand which at the same time controlled 


484 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the sheet, while his left steered with the oar — 
out to port now — he was trying to nail a certain 
point inside the compass case, not on the compass 
card itself. 

“ Ned Saywood told me once, if ever I got 
badly astray, to look out for Lubber’s Point — a 
little mark on the margin of the compass,” he 
said, holding the small wooden box upon his 
knee; “ that by steering just a point to one side 
or the other of that mark, I’d make a good course. 
I’ve got it — boy ! ” suddenly nailing it with the 
stub of lead. 

“ Hold onto Lubber’s Point, then : I guess it’s 
the only point we’ll ever make ! ” wheezed Oak — 
but by way of a joke, not a croak. “ Want me 
to steer awhile and tend sail? You take a spell 
at the oars; ’twill start up the blood.” 

But this was Murray’s hour when the man- 
hood in him quivered out like a star ; he had more 
experience than the lad on the midship thwart ; he 
held on to the sheet and steering oar, nailing Lub- 
ber’s Point with his pencil, steering just a point 
off it, a little to the sou’west, while the sea grew 
wilder and wilder under its dusky veil, lashed by 
the rain like a shadowy crystal. 

“ This no’the-easter is certainly sending her,” 
said Murray, noting the dory’s progress. “ If 
it keeps on breezing-up an’ don’t raise too wicked 


“ TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


485 


a sea for her to live in, we would stand a show 
— some chance of making the land. Guess we 
could live for two days, anyhow ! ” 

But at the end of two hours Mudgie was weak- 
ening, not so much the brave spirit in the lad, 
but physically he was, as Barty once said, com- 
pared to his dorymate, a whipper-snapper; and 
he lacked either the digestive power or inbred will 
to enable him to swallow the nauseating raw fish 
which peeled his throat. Just now, too, the ca- 
pricious breeze was failing. 

Of a sudden he lurched forward on the thwart, 
almost letting steering oar slip into the sea, while 
the sheet-rope, controlling dory-sail uncoiled itself 
from his wrist: the triangle of canvas slatted 
wildly, like a beaten bird. 

“ It’s no use, boy,” he muttered, his head sink- 
ing like a cod-lead. “ We don’t stand any 
‘ show ’ ; there are no vessels ’way up here, an’ 
we never could make the land. We’ve got to 
go some time. May as well give in, first as last. 
We’re not coming out o’ this — die sooner or 
later — haven’t got a chance ! ” brokenly. 

“ ‘ Die ! Die ! ’ ” The word scraped against 
Oak’s numbed consciousness, with a rousing 
scratch. 

“ Take a fellow young and strong and he will 
make a fight against death, even if apparently he 


486 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


hasn’t a show : ” how often he had heard fisher- 
men say that : Now he knew its truth. 

“ * Die? ’ No, sir! ” he gasped. “ We’re not 
quitting — yet. Not giving up, yet! An’ if I 
die, I’ll die, sending her — sending her!” in a 
ragged sob, his piteous glance trying to tear the 
fog-banks to west’ard, as if it would drag forth 
that unknown, far-off western land, tell whether 
the “ sent ” dory would ever reach it. Hurriedly 
he was getting the baffled sail under control, es- 
tablishing himself in Mudgie’s place, steering 
with the oar out to port, shoving the latter aside. 

“You get for’ard there, boy!” he gasped. 
“ You’re frozen — that’s what’s the matter with 
you — from steering so long. Row awhile an’ 
help send her; keep her going! I’ll hang on to 
Lubber’s Point.” 

But as evening drew on, while the fickle gusts 
began to howl again and seas grew rougher, Mur- 
ray, huddled on the forward thwart, made no at- 
tempt to row and help the dory’s progress. Be- 
fore the second short but dreaded night set in 
his dorymate could not rouse him even to bale her 
out, when a sea swept in over the little boat’s side, 
threatening to swamp her. 

Oakley had to do it himself, bale with his right 
hand which controlled the sheet, while “ hanging 
on ” to the steering oar with his left. 


“ TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


487 


“ You're pretty weak, aren’t you, Mudgie 
boy ? ” he hazarded by-and-by, during a tempo- 
rary lull. “ Try and take a chew o’ fish,” point- 
ing unsteadily to the halibut. “ Makes one’s 
mouth horrid, but it’s our one chance to hold out,” 
his own tongue and palate all peeled from such 
chewing, as he held them up, lips parted gasp- 
ing*ly, for the falling rain to slake them. 

“ Haven’t got any chance ! May as well give 
up — one time as another ! ” Mudgie croaked 
desperately, his red eyes glaring out at tumbling 
seas around him, as if he would like to plunge 
overboard, and end a hopeless struggle. 

A new terror beset his dorymate : Sup- 
pose Mudgie should die from cold and hunger, 
or go mad? To be in the dory, amid these icy, 
foggy seas, far from vessel or land, alone with a 
dead man! He had known fishermen who had 
lived through such things. 

“ I’d rather drown, too — if ’twould only come 
short an’ quick ! ” he sobbed, poor boy, the awful 
cold and exhaustion covering that lamp of life 
within, deadening instinctive desire to keep it 
burning. “ But — but — ” 

But while all else within seemed crumbling 
like a shell, he was conscious of another riding 
light at the core of his being which flickered still : 
that torch of faith and strength, kindled in a 


488 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


whitewashed den, far away upon peaceful salt- 
marshes ! Of a sense of Reality and Will-power 
that had seemed to enter him from without, go 
forth beyond him, which had the final word now, 
telling him that he must not let go; must hang on 
— hang on till the last gun should fire ! 

And now, the prayer which had foundered be- 
fore, came beating in great dumb sobs against 
boyish lips, irresistible cry of the human heart: 
“ Our Father — our hope — Who art in heaven, 
don’t let me quit! Help — help me to hang on! 
In the name of Jesus — don’t let me quit ! Help 
me to hang on till the last gun — ” 

It seemed as if the last gun was firing now 
from the Commodore’s ship, for blacker wings 
of night’s twilight waved in the fog; and a great 
sea broke over the dory, almost swamping her, 
taking the baler-scoop with it, in receding. 

“ The keg-buoy, Mudgie ! ” he cried des- 
perately, pointing to the dory-buoy. “ Kick it 
in! Bale her, bale her! It’s our only chance.” 

But while Murray, half swooning from cold 
and hunger, crawled to obey, he seized the buoy- 
ant keg himself, stove it in with lightning kick, 
baled out the water, still keeping her head to the 
waves with the oar. 

That was the last wild raid which the sea made 
upon them; during the brief night its bluster 


" TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


489 


subsided, the wind dying down too, unfortu- 
nately. But the fog was lifting. The cold, re- 
lentless enemy, with hunger and thirst, remained. 
And about midnight, it seemed as if, racked by 
this grim trio, Mudgie made matters worse by 
becoming half-delirious. 

He began, at first with hoarse mutterings, later 
in random babble, to talk about his father’s hav- 
ing been drowned, that he was going to drown, 
too; then, of how his father, the night before he 
shipped for his last trip, had told him, Murray — 
if he never came back — to tell the skipper and 
another man something about a smoke-house fire, 
and sawdust, about who kicked it aside, and 
“ let her go ” — the fire ! He moaned feebly be- 
cause he never could tell the “ old man,” the skip- 
per, now. 

Slowly, with no sense of wondering shock — he 
was beyond that — Oak felt himself, with diffi- 
culty, landing a fact, as he would have landed a 
fighting halibut : that it was Mudgie’s father who 
had lent that smoke-house fire “ a boost.” While 
steering and managing the little dory-sail, he 
seemed in a numb sort of way trying to gaff a 
second discovery which eluded him among the 
water-hills, and bring it aboard : namely, that this 
had something to do with Murray’s treatment of 
him on that Georges trip. Young Sellar had re- 


490 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


sented his presence aboard which seemed to call 
for the confession he shrank from making. 

It did not matter now, would not have mattered 
even if Mudgie had kicked that sawdust aside 
himself: he was a fellow’s dorymate, that fellow 
was bound by the trawler’s code to do all for him 
that he would for himself — men had been known 
to do more — till death or deliverance stepped in 
and took both. 

Indeed when, with the first streak of broaden- 
ing day, things began to penetrate a numbed con- 
sciousness more clearly, Oak had only a dim feel- 
ing that all was now cleared up between Mudgie 
and him — a dull pity for the lad who had been 
left with such a confession to make. 

“Never mind, Murray, boy!” he gasped, ar- 
ticulating with difficulty, for his voice seemed 
now indeed an ice-nubble ; as if he were chopping 
off each word, “ ere sliding her out,” while his 
dorymate, at intervals, croaked on in semi-de- 
lirium. “Never mind; perhaps, you will get a 
chance to tell the skipper.” And then the lad 
burst forth in a bitter, despairing cry : “ Wind’s 

hauling against us — I thought it was: hauling 
round to the west ; we can’t sail any longer. Sail 
will have to come down! We must — row.” 

“ No use! No show! ” grated Mudgie feebly, 
in part understanding. 


“ TILL THE LAST GUN ” 


491 


“ I guess we haven’t much now — if we can’t 
sail any longer.” 

Oak was disposing of the little dory-sail by 
the simple method of picking up a pigmy mast 
out of thwart-hole into which it set down, wrap- 
ping the sail round it, laying both in the dory’s 
bottom. “We haven’t a show,” each half-audible 
word clicked frozenly, as he seated himself on the 
’midship thwart, grasping the hard ash oars in 
mittened hands almost as numb as the wood. 
“ But I guess, if I’m to die, I’ll die, rowing : 
I’ll die — sending her! ” the indomitable spirit of 
father and great-uncle, cracker jack strains, heav- 
ing upward, like a flinty pebble. 

“ I’ll die rowing ! ” And then a staggering 
cry, tearing its way out, swaying the rower, as his 
herring-red eyes strained to westward, until he, in 
turn, rocked the dory more wildly than seas had 
shaken her. A cry such as the young Moses 
might have vented when he saw deliverance for 
his people: 

“ Lord God ! a vessel. It isn’t the fog now ; 
fog has lifted! It’s a vessel, miles away — a 
handspeck! But it’s a vessel , Mudgie boy. A 
vessel ! ” 

“ We’ll never reach her. Must be eight or 
nine miles off. She’s going from us; we’ll die 
before — ” Mudgie hiccoughed like a child. 


492 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ She’s not under sail ; she’s a fletcher, to an 
anchor. Tide’s for us, though wind’s against 
us ! If we die, we’ll die, g-going for her ! ” 

Perhaps Mudgie, on the verge of collapse at 
this moment, landed a fact in his turn : that the 
greeny of the Georges trip, butt of the pollock- 
er’s deck, had become the champion of two lives ! 

Hours later a dory crawled toward a vessel’s 
side, mechanically rowed by a lad whose arms 
worked like those of a wooden image, while at 
long intervals his tongue got off words in parrot- 
like echo of himself : 

“ If I go, I’ll go ‘ sending her ’ ! I’ll die — 
rowing ! ” 

Mudgie had revived enough to bale at times, 
with a second baler-scoop which he discovered 
up for’ard, stuck in the “ rising ” of the dory, 
had rowed, too, by spells, until he keeled over 
on the thwart. Oak had tried signaling, with his 
yellow oil-jacket on an oar, but there had been no 
response from the vessel. 

And as he neared her, his heart, frozen in his 
throat, dropped suddenly, like a stone into a gla- 
cier. Not a soul was on her deck. He was too 
spent to cry out. 

Then, a black head popped up through a hatch- 
way. There was a wave as of orange silk, like a 
yellow burgee. A man was hanging out his oil- 


“TILL THE LAST GUN” 


493 


skins which he had been painting over with paint- 
oil, to prevent the cold’s cracking them. It was 
he who did the shouting : 

“ Dory to leeward ; two men in her ! ” 

Other heads came popping up. A second dory 
was in the water. The man who had been paint- 
ing his oilskins, boarded the stray, took the oars 
from a half-swooning lad’s hands. 

“ How long have you been astray from your 
vessel ? ” 

“ Three days — two nights — I think.” 

“ Any grub or water ? ” 

Oak pointed a shaking finger at the mangled 
remains of two halibut. 

“ Have you been rowing ever since the wind 
hauled, this morning?” 

A nod ; then, the wandering, parrot-like croak : 
“ Thought if I had to go, I’d go, s-sending her,” 
with a wavering glance at the dory’s planks. 
“ Guess I can get aboard myself — my arms are 
all right,” vaguely, like one in a dream. 

But his legs were not; when he tried to stand 
on the deck they went from under him, while 
brotherly hands hoisted Murray over the rail. 

The man who had hung out his oilskins knelt 
by the rower, poured some liquid down his throat. 
When he turned to face the deck again tears 
streamed down his face. 


494 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ 4 Thought if he died, he’d die, sending her ! ’ ” 
he echoed, pointing to the prostrate figure. 
“ Only a boy of a man — an’ game ! Only a boy 
of a man — an’ dead game! ” 


CHAPTER XXX 

“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 

u \ ND now, Oakley, now that you find 
yourself back in quiet Essex, after 
your adventures in the black North, 
with a hundred and sixty-five dollars in your 
pocket, I suppose you’re in doubt whether to 
put yourself through Tech or get married, eh? ” 
The joking speaker was Richard A. Gage, 
Senior; the scene was the piazza of a handsome 
country home, washed by the early moonlight of 
a September evening. To eyes which had been 
stiffened by the cold of that grim North until 
it seemed as if they would never close again upon 
ghostly phantoms of fog and ice, the swelling 
New England woods, falling into a plump green 
slumber under meeting smiles of daylight and 
night, the river’s peaceful ribbon, with raw ves- 
sel-shapes nestling by it like antlered animals 
come down to drink, all made up a welcoming 
earth than which no heaven could be fairer. 

Oak reddened a little under his “ dark-shell ” 
tan at his ex-employer’s humorous suggestion 
495 


496 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


that he should think of getting married on the 
proceeds of his three months’ fletching toil from 
the vessel which had picked him up — fishing 
through the months of July and August away 
up to latitudes fifty-six and fifty-eight, pursuing 
the gamy halibut under perpetual daylight. The 
maidenly smiles which had counted most on his 
return were still those of his short-waisted “ best 
girls” in the old prints. Though, if the secrets 
of a boy’s heart were dragged to light, it would 
be found that during the long summer up north, 
restricted to men’s society, one bright face — 
that of Mr. Justin Harvey’s youngest daughter 
— kept isolating itself from amid the distressed 
flock that had appeared to his sympathies, when 
coming round from Essex on the Richard A . 
Gage , after her launching. 

He flushed rather sheepishly at remembering 
how often it had smiled at him from an icy wave- 
crest, when going through the lonely labor of 
setting his toils, or “ gurdying up,” with Mudgie 
Sellar for perpetual companion. 

“ Oak has just come to the stage when he 
thinks that he ought to have another girl beside 
old Fortitude and Prue. But he doesn’t know 
how to go about it, unless I show him the road ! ” 
chaffed Gage, who had rushed down from Salem, 
to hear the recital of his friend’s adventures. 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 497 


“ Pshaw — 4 girls ’ ! ” grumbled Dickey, with a 
nauseated grin, bestriding Oakley’s knees, and 
pounding on his developed chest-bone, as if it 
were a door to be opened. “ What I want to 
know is — the ice-bear that chased Roll-down, 
how did he do it? ” 

“ He just fetched a hungry growl or two, 
stretched himself out till he looked long as the 
dory : then, he ‘ drove her ! ’ ” laughed the re- 
turned fisherman. 

“ ‘ Drove her ? ’ ” echoed the childish inquisitor 
with another series of opening knocks ; all 
“ Rag’s ” love for bears had revived under the 
influence of the iceberg story. 

“ He slid and rolled, came fast as he could, 
came for all that was in him; he just drove her,” 
reiterated the dusky story-teller. “ I guess that 
bear was pretty nervous lest he should never 
get another chance at a full meal, Rag. He 
might possibly corner a seal if one was foolish 
enough to board the berg, but the chances were 
against him. 

“ You couldn’t sleep at night, up there, for the 
seals ‘ hollering ’ all round you,” went on the 
youthful adventurer, while the piazza group hung 
on his words. “ They had a small seal for mas- 
cot aboard the Margaret, the vessel that picked 
us up — or that we picked up, rather. One day 


498 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


the fat little fellow fell overboard; you should 
have seen him cry because he couldn’t get back 
on deck again; Murray and I put over a dory 
and pulled him in, we had known what it was to 
be astray ourselves.” 

“ So you fished all summer from the vessel 
that rescued you ? ” struck in Mrs. Gage. 

“ There was nothing else for us to do : we 
couldn’t get back to the Iris; we had covered 
over a hundred miles, I guess, sailing and row- 
ing, by the time we were picked up. The Mar- 
garet had lost two men, capsized in their dory, 
only a few days before, was short of hands. 
The crew said it seemed as if they had to go — 
to save us,” Oakley’s tone dropped. “ The ves- 
sel had sailed seventy miles in our direction the 
day before we sighted her, because she would 
not fish on the ground where she lost men ; that’s 
how she came to be within reach. Two days 
after we boarded her we were out setting trawls 
from our own dory; Mudgie was weak still, but 
he soon pulled himself together.” 

“ Where’s ‘Mudgie boy/ now?” queried 
Gage. 

“ Gone over to Swampscott, to see his mother.” 
It was Captain Ceeph who answered. “ First 
time he’s been home for over a year, I guess! 
I remember his father well now — sort of 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 499 


fellow of whom you’d say that Respect- 
ability and he might be married, there was so lit- 
tle connection between them. The mother seems 
to be a nice woman. But Murray hasn’t had 
much of a show.” The skipper was thinking of 
a post-mortem confession made by Mudgie on 
his father’s behalf only this morning within an 
hour from the time that Captain Ceeph had 
brought the Iris in ’longside her wharf, after a 
four months’ trip. 

“ Well, Murray boy, you’ve got to stand on 
your own legs, not on your father’s, see that you 
make them as strong as you can, and remember 
that so long as I go fishing, you’re welcome to 
a berth, to ship with me, whatever vessel I’m 
on,” was the skipper’s retort. 

Mudgie had turned away with a salt drop in 
his eye, and hung on to Oak’s hand. Dorymates 
all the summer, after their bad fifty-four hours 
astray, the tie had become deep and warm be- 
tween them. 

“ It was strange that the vessel which picked 
up your nephew should get home two days be- 
fore you did, Captain Dart: the summer must 
have been worse for you than for him ? ” sug- 
gested Dickey’s mother. 

“ I guess it was : I was all knocked out.” Cap- 
tain Ceeph’s voice broke. His crew said they 


500 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


had never seen him smile from that morning of 
black fog on which his grandnephew went astray 
until to-day, when aboard the tug, puffing across 
the harbor to meet the Iris, tow her in to the 
Gloucester wharf, the eagle eyes of returning 
fletch-hunters descried two familiar figures, long 
mourned as lost. 

It was Barty who first “ made ” them on the 
Minna's maindeck. Then there was a wild hulla- 
baloo on the homing vessel, mingled with some 
salt water which did not come in over the rail. 
Captain Ceeph had to drop below for a minute 
or two, all undone, while the advancing tow- 
boat blew off three jubilant whistles to herald 
her good news, and the Iris's flag at half-mast 
for two of her “ crowd ” gone astray, was jerked 
aloft for one wild moment, returning the salute, 
then came down, amid broken cheers. 

“ And to think they should ha’ got to Glouces- 
ter before us after all, skipper ! ” gasped Bart, 
when the captain charged up the companionway 
again, blowing his nose. “ Look at that nephew 
of yours, he’s got some added beam to him ! And 
the two o’ them all ragged out in new suits o’ 
duck — best duck, too, an’ plenty of area in 
em!” with damp jollity, getting off a figure of 
speech, the said suits being of fine tweed, not 
duck. 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 


501 


“Well! we felt bound to have some * glad 
rags ’ to celebrate in,” laughed Oak, when the 
skipper alluded to this, now. “ Our share was 
a hundred and sixty dollars each for the sum- 
mer's fletching, with five dollars apiece from the 
Iris's owners for bringing back the dory in which 
we went astray. We didn’t do badly. But I 
wouldn’t go through the same again for all the 
dollars in the United States treasury. 

“ When the Margaret put into Bay of Bulls 
for bait along in July, I wrote to you, Gage, and 
to Aunt Lo, saying that we were safe. Uncle 
Ceeph had been in there for water, only three 
days before; we just missed him.” The returned 
fisherman was inwardly debating with boyish 
prodigality about what present he could buy for 
a little woman in her Old Ladies’ Home, out of 
the proceeds of his Arctic toil. 

“ You bet, I kept the telephone wires hot when 
I got your letter ! ” Gage’s laugh, like the skip- 
per’s, rang brokenly. “ I made a bee-line for the 
mould-loft, to tell ‘ Professor ;’ he almost cried. 
I know I boohooed! The news had reached 
Gloucester that you were astray through a ves- 
sel — a fresh halibuter — which the Iris spoke, up 
north, in June.” 

“ I haven’t seen * Professor ’ yet,” remarked 
young Rose. 


502 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ He’s busy, getting out the moulds for two 
fine yachts now; one to be built in our yard, one 
in another; both designed by a Mr. Godfrey, a 
very smart architect. I saw him — the designer 
— in Essex, to-day,” volunteered Mr. Gage ; and 
Oakley’s heart took him by surprise in the jump 
it gave, ambition had been temporarily laid on 
the shelf by the struggle for life, up north — 
while Dickey, who had been feeling out of it for a 
while, kept kicking at his shins, with a wildly 
importunate : 

“ Say — say, Oakie, I want to ask you some- 
thing!” 

“Well, drive her!” the returned fisherman 
laughed. 

And “ Rag ” drove his question : “ The ice- 

bear that went for Rowley, could he fight a 
whale, if it got ’longside the berg? ” 

“ Don’t suppose he ever had a chance ; he 
starved too soon. By the way, Gagie,” Oakley 
turned to his former bunk-mate, “ d’you know 
who was the first person I laid eyes on in Glou- 
cester when the Margaret got in ’longside the 
wharf, why! Gardner Pratt, The Pin. He just 
dropped aboard an’ flung his arms round Mudgie 
an’ me ; he was going out on the handsome new 
schooner, the John Hays Hammond. Well, we 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 503 


must be getting under weigh, too, steering for 
our boarding-house — eh, skipper ? ” 

But Gage and Dickey raised simultaneous, 
protesting outcry. 

“ Can’t you stay all night and bunk with me ? 
Let’s be bunk-mates again, for once, as we were 
on that Georges trip ? ” pleaded the former, who 
still felt the horror of believing for three ‘weeks 
that his friend was drowned in the freezing 
waters of that dusky North. 

“ No, sir ; you’d kick me black an’ blue ! ” 

But as Mr. and Mrs. Gage warmly seconded 
the invitation, extending it to the skipper, the 
proposal was carried. 

Two lads talked till long past midnight, when 
Oak touched his bunk-mate with three fingers 
as he had been wont to do in the vessel’s cabin, 
though, here, there were no cabin and binnacle 
lamps by which to see the haymow head: the 
wanderer fell happily asleep, to be awakened 
shortly before daybreak, indeed, by a furious kick 
and the old Georges’ reveille: 

“ Wake up! Wake up! Take the kinks out 
of your back-bone : there’s a fire, somewhere ! ” 

“ Let it burn,” drowsily murmured the ex- 
fisherman, whose second night this was in a com- 
fortable bed ashore. 


504 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ I believe it’s the mould-loft — the mould- 
loft ’cross the river. I see the reflection — ” 

A sleepyhead was broad awake now. Inside 
of three minutes, two half-dressed lads, having 
awakened their host, were tearing across the 
causeway, while the first pearly tinge of dawn 
appeared in the eastern sky. They were making 
for the mould-loft “ on the dead leap,” as Gage 
put it. 

A fire there was, in truth: it had started in a 
small neighboring shed, but was already sowing 
its deadly seed, wind-driven particles of burning 
shingle, on the pointed roof of the mould-shop. 
“ Professor ” single-handed, was doing his best 
to fight it with chemicals, there being no water 
handy ; the town volunteer department, with their 
hand engine, had not yet arrived upon the scene. 

“ The stuff in the loft over the shop ; those old 
block models — if you could only get them out ! 
I fear part of the roof will go anyway,” he yelled 
wildly to the two youthful volunteers, who ar- 
rived to his aid, capless, coatless. 

Dashing in a door, climbing a dark, ladder- 
like stairs, Oak was presently groping madly 
amid the smoky gloom of the cobwebbed attic 
where he had reveled in dust and boat-treasures 
on that rainy afternoon of his first visit to the 
mould-loft, passing down the beautiful zebra- 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 


505 


striped Edith Connelly and other miniature ves- 
sels to Gage , who hove them through a broken 
window on to surrounding grass. 

In their wake, went architectural drawings, 
blue-print designs, moulds for vessels’ timbers, 
tools from the mould-loft itself. By the time 
dawn was red in the sky, when Gage hove out 
the long drawing-board with his friend’s design 
for a fisherman which Oak had left in “ Pro- 
fessor’s ” safe-keeping on departing for his north- 
ern trip, the greensward surrounding the church- 
like building — littered with curious carvings — • 
presented the appearance of an Oriental bazaar. 

By now, too, the department had arrived on 
the scene, with the “ whole of Essex,” so far as 
male population was concerned, on its heels. 
The fire was already under control. 

While the sun swiftly rose, a golden island 
in a lake of orange mist, picking out each carved 
object, each face, with photographic clearness, 
Oak leaning against a tree, exhausted, purblind 
from smoke, found himself picking out one fa- 
miliar visage after another, as it popped up from 
behind the grey wall of his experiences, up north. 

There was Mitch, the breezy young ship-car- 
penter, slapping him on the back with cyclonic 
greeting: “ Hullo, Oakie, old man, is this a put- 
up bonfire, to welcome you? Shake, boy! It’s 


506 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


good to see you back safe an’ sound, when we 
thought you had gone in that dory.” 

And Frenchy, just returned to work in the 
shipyard after his summer’s fishing, streak- 
ing off congratulations in a piebald mixture of 
French and English! Barty Halloran, too, who 
was now spending a few days ashore with his 
mother, and the little old blue jay, dispensing 
with fisherman’s generosity some of the profits 
of his northern fletching toil. 

But before and beyond others, Oakley, with a 
ringing as of muffled bells within him, was con- 
scious of one strong presence, amid the babel 
of firemen’s cries and confusion of outsiders’ 
tongues — of a dominant figure threading its 
way amid the litter of moulds, block models, 
baby vessels and drawing portfolios on the grass. 

“ Well, Ethan!” said the voice which, two 
years before, had boomed down from the trestle 
to a wading boy, “ Well, Ethan,” to the mould- 
maker, “ I see that the loft isn’t going up in 
smoke after all, and you seem to have got all 
your stuff out. I was anxious about the draw- 
ings for those two yachts — and the moulds.” 

“ There are the lads whom yoh have to thank 
for chucking them out o’ danger, while I was 
fighting fire,” hoarsely returned the begrimed 
" Professor.” “ They got out the block models 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 507 


and stuff from that attic, too, some of which 
would have gone, otherwise. If ever I did any- 
thing for them — ” Ethan’s voice broke. 

“ Well, I’m sure I’m everlastingly in- 
debted — ” Hall Godfrey was beginning, while 
his glance swept two scorched youths in charred 
clothing. “ Hullo — that looks like something 
worth saving ! ” he broke off suddenly, addressing 
Gage. “ Who drew her lines ? ” pointing to the 
long drawing-board, bearing, tacked to it that 
design for a fisherman over which young Rose 
had toiled for so many patient months. 

Greengage had already, with scant ceremony, 
hove the board through a broken window: with 
a master-stroke of genius, at the naval architect’s 
approach, he “ got busy,” ostentatiously dusting 
the drawing with a shirt-sleeved elbow, propping 
it against a bush, where the sun’s first smile 
bathed a vessel’s penciled lines. 

“ ‘ Who drew them? ’ He did,” returned the 
Latin School boy, husky from fire-fighting, nod- 
ding toward his friend, while to Oak, with all 
ambition’s dreams surging in him again — the 
fire having consumed the too vivid recollection of 
his experiences up north — it seemed as if his 
world was balancing itself on a hair above him. 

Godfrey lifted the drawing-board, examined 
the penciled plan with the master’s analytic eye. 


508 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


“ Well, it looks as if the designer had some 
ideas of his own about combining speed and sea- 
worthiness in a fishing vessel, but lacked the 
technical knowledge to work them out accurate- 
ly/’ he frankly commented. “ She’s a little too 
full in the after body,” he raised his eyes toward 
Oak, standing tense, under a low bough of the 
elm tree, as if about to be executed. “ There 
are some outs about the diagonals, and you 
haven’t got your stations in just right. Still, 
for a beginner — or an amateur — it’s good 
work. Jove! am I having a pipe dream?” the 
clever architect fell back a step, a quizzical light, 
like the dawn’s first smile, flooding his eyes. 
“ Is it a smoke-dream, or did I, some time — 
somewhere — let fly those last words at you be- 
fore?” 

“ It isn’t a pipe-dream,” Oak could barely ar- 
ticulate. He seemed caught in another fog — no 
dusky web spun by the black North, but a mist 
of quivering light — still, the world of his hopes 
rocked like a rainbowed bubble above him; he 
scarcely dared speak lest it should burst. “ It 
isn’t a smoke-dream ! ” 

“ No, of course ! My brain isn’t working some 
sort of pre-existence racket on me,” laughingly. 
“ It all comes back now : that foggy trestle as it 
used to be before its reconstruction, and a little 


“ SENDING HER,” ASHORE 509 


chap with his Teddy bear! This fellow is the 
child’s cousin ! ” turning suddenly upon Gage. 
“We got chummy on the car; didn’t we. I 
thought there was a familiar rogue in his eye,” 
extending a hand. “ I’d have recognized you 
both at once, if you weren’t black as smoked her- 
rings. 

Greengage’s eyes were herring-red, too. But 
there was enough of the inbred lawyer in him 
not to let a great moment slip. With a vague 
feeling as if his friend were a client, he nodded 
toward him again: 

“ He’s been having a worse experience in a 
fog this summer, was astray for fifty-four hours 
in his dory, up North.” 

“ Why, to be sure, I read about that in to- 
day’s newspaper. And you’re only just got home 
from your fletching trip? You’re the fellow 
who, according to his dorymate’s account, stuck 
to it that ‘if he died, he’d die rowing!’ Can’t 
you come over to breakfast with me, at the hotel, 
you and your friend? I’m a yachting man my- 
self, and I’m so interested in Gloucester and its 
fishermen: I know more than one skipper who’s 
a dog.” 

“ Breakfast would be the proper ticket just 
now, but we’ve only three articles of clothing on,” 
struck in Gage modestly, still steering his friend’s 


510 


FROM KEEL TO KITE 


case, seeing that the latter was dumb or inco- 
herent. “ We ought to have half-a-dozen, or 
we’ll horrify the natives.” 

Godfrey, however, was not listening to him; 
he kept glancing from Oak’s face to the long 
drawing-board which he had set down amid the 
litter on the grass, then back again to a lad’s 
tanned features. 

“ And you're the fellow too, of whom Mr. 
Lawrence was speaking yesterday, who for a 
year and a half was working in a shipyard here, 
trying to pick up some knowledge of practical 
shipbuilding with the rudiments of a naval 
architect’s education between that and the mould- 
loft. Well, how would you like to ‘ send her 
some,’ ashore, now ? ” That quizzical light again 
flooded a strong man’s eyes. “ Don’t you sup- 
pose you’d make better headway if you could 
find a berth in some architect’s office? I think 
I could pay you enough to cover your board, 
anyway, for doing tracing work. In a big city 
you could take the full naval architect’s course 
by attendance on evening classes, and get your 
diploma in a few years. 

“ There ! don’t mind * spouting ’ now : we’ll 
talk it all over at breakfast. Come just as you 
are,” to Gage ; “ don’t mind those extra articles ! 
I confess I’d like to be the man to help you ‘ send 


* SENDING HER,” ASHORE 


511 


her/ ashore ! ” with an unsteady laugh in Oakley’s 
direction. 

The would-be designer was speechless. He 
glanced off toward the distant shipyard where 
his lowly keel had been set up, feeling exactly 
as he had done on that last trip when the skip- 
per came on deck after a spell of heavy weather, 
through which the vessel had crept under four 
lowers with a: “ Well, boys, we’ll get the kites 
and ‘ gasoliner ’ on her ! ” 

For him, at last, those light kites, ambition’s 
topsails, long balled up, were being unpuckered 
to a favorable breeze. 

“ Now, you’ll be going ahead under all the 
sail you can carry. Now, you’ll be humming 
some ; now, you’ll be making good ! ” cried 
Gage, firing off his Georges’ “ clippings,” while 
a dazed youth flung his arms first round him, 
then blindly round Frenchy who, with the Irish- 
man, was standing near. 

“ Hullo! Frenchy old boy, greates’ big chunk 
o’ luck as nobodee nevare see.” 

But the laugh was tremulous — sob-caught — 
as when, in a white-washed den a boy, tem- 
porarily hove down till twin spars of faith and 
courage dipped, had, like the righting vessel, come 
back on his feet again. 


THE END 



PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 

By A. T. DUDLEY 

Cloth, i2mo Illustrated by Charles Copeland Price per volume, $1 .25 


FOLLOWING THE BALL 


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Raymond Benson Series 

By CLARENCE B. BURLEIGH 
Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman Large i2mo, Cloth 
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PIGEON CAMP SERIES 

By MARTHA JAMES 

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JIMMIE SUTER 

J IMMIE SUTER is a sturdy, active, honest 
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What Jimmie lacks in pocket money, however, 
he more than makes up in mechanical inge- 
nuity and other good qualities, and his best boy 
friend is the son of a rich man, but not spoiled 
by the fact. They have royal times making and 
sailing an ice-boat and doing many other things, 
and best of all they organize the “ S. F. B.,” or Society for Feeding 
Birds, which spreads far and wide and is productive of most enjoyable 
acquaintances besides doing good service in the cause for which it was 
intended. Deeds of kindness to a queer old neighbor bring an unex- 
pected reward, and the bright, wholesome book ends in a most pleasing 
manner. 

“ Martha James seems to have a good kind of insight for this juvenile 
literature, and in the course of an interesting story drops many valuable 
suggestions about the employment of a boy’s time and his habits of life 
outside of school.” — Syracuse Herald. 

“ In his kindness and thoughtfulness for both men and animals, 
Jimmie is an ideal boy.” — The Watchman , Boston . 

“The happy, wholesome book closes in a thoroughly satisfactory 
way . ’ ’ — Chicago Inter - Ocean. 

“The tone is simple and healthy, and the book will no doubt find 
many young readers.” — The Churchman , Milwaukee. 



For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 


Our Own Land Series 

By EVERETT T . TOMLINSON 

illustrated Cloth, i2mo $1.50 each 

FOUR BOYS IN THE YELLOWSTONE 

How They Went and What They Did 

P^OUR boy friends who chance to represent 
respectively the northern, southern, eas- 
tern, and western sections of our country, join 
in a trip up the Great Lakes to Duluth, where 
they take a private car furnished by the father 
of one of them and go on to the world-famous 
Yellowstone Park, in which they have an 
abundance of adventure and enjoyment. The 
book opens an entirely new field in juvenile 
literature and will be welcomed accordingly 
The spirited illustrations by Mr. Edwards are 
worthy of special mention. 

•' The book has a decided value in awakening in young Americans an interest 
in some of the marvels of their own land.” — The Interior , Chicago. 

FOUR BOYS IN THE LAND OF COTTON 

Where They Went, What They Saw, and What They Did 

r FHE four boys spend their next long vaca- 
tion in a southern tour, which begins in 
Virginia, thence to the Mississippi river, and 
on through Arkansas to Indian Territory. 

They come to appreciate their own country by 
seeing it, and learn history by visiting historic 
places. Above all, they have a good time, 
and so will every one who reads this book. 

“ The next best thing to visiting these places 
yourself is to hear about them from Mr. Tomlin- 
son.” — Providence Nevus. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 




Making of Our Nation Series 

By WILLIAM C. SPRAGUE 
Large i2mo, Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 

Price per volume, $1.50 

The Boy Courier of Napoleon 

A Story of the Louisiana Purchase 

W ILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc- 
cessful editor of “ The American Boy,” 
has given for the first time the history 
of the Louisiana Purchase in entertaining story 
form. The hero is introduced as a French 
drummer boy in the great battle of Hohenlinden. 
He serves as a valet to Napoleon and later is 
sent with secret messages to the French in San 
Domingo and in Louisiana. After exciting ad- 
ventures he accomplishes his mission and is 
present at the lowering of the Spanish flag, and 
later at that of the French and the raising oi 
the Stars and Stripes. 

“All boys and girls of our country who read this book will be delighted with it, 
as well as benefited by the historical knowledge contained in its pages.” — Louis . 
ville, Ky., Times . 

“An excellent book for boys, containing just enough history to make them hunger 
for more. No praise of this book can be too high.” — Town Topics, Cleveland, O, 
“This book is one to fascinate every intelligent American boy.” — Buffalo Times. 

The Boy Pathfinder 

* A Story of the Oregon Trail 

T HIS book has as its hero an actual character, 

George Shannon, a Pennsylvania lad, who 
at seventeen left school to become one of 
the Lewis and Clark expedition. He had nar- 
row escapes, but persevered, and the story of 
his wanderings, interwoven with excellent his- 
torical information, makes the highest type of 
general reading for the young. 

“It is a thoroughly good story, full of action and 
adventure and at the same time carrying a bit of real 
history accurately recorded.” — Universalist Leader , 

Boston . 

“It is an excellent book for a boy to read.” — New- 
ark , N. Advertiser. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 


































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OCT SC 1908 




